Ethics and Morality
by Tbuddah
Summary: University A/U where Robin is an Ethics professor and Regina is his first year student. I started this as a one-shot but have had requests to continue so I'm publishing it separately.
1. First Impressions

_**A prompt response to this; R u taking prompts? I have a great need for an OQ uni story where robin is the ruggedly handsome professor (like english or philosophy) and regina is this sassy, outspoken, argumentative student in his first year class that he can't help but be transfixed by**_

_**I wrote four mini chapters (all of which are below) and they switch between Regina and Robin's point of view. RATED M folks, especially the last two sections. :) Enjoy and let me know what you think.**_

He is sexy, no, not just sexy. Professor Locksley is ruggedly handsome, gorgeous, and those dimples, those piercing blue eyes, they have her contemplating thoughts and actions she really shouldn't. Not about her teacher anyway, not when she should be concentrating on his words, on the lecture, rather than the way his biceps flex beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, or how she wishes she wouldn't have sat five rows back on the far right.

He says something then, something positive and naive, something she wouldn't expect from a professor of ethics, and it has her eyes narrowing, her brow furrowing. His words are idealistic, impractical, and she can't help but roll her eyes. He is speaking of morality, of what makes a person a 'good' person, and she wonders vaguely if he truly believes these things, truly believes in the inherent 'goodness' of people.

She is hurriedly jotting down notes, trying to comprehend, trying to understand, but then she can't, her pen pauses mid-sentence, and she finds herself voicing her disagreement just so she won't have to listen to him spouting nonsense any longer. The other students turn her way, and his eyes find hers, those blue eyes, and they make her feel melty, feel warm and wet between the thighs, but she won't let that distract her.

"Do you truly believe people are inherently good?" She questions, brown eyes searching blue. "That people can be selfless?" She doesn't believe these things. Hasn't believed them since she was a child. A naive young child who hadn't yet faced the harshness of a mother who never loved her, a father who might as well have been absent, and the loss of the only person on this earth she ever felt was truly good, the only person who ever showed her love.

His eyebrows lifts slightly, and his gaze settles on her face, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips before he asks, "Well Miss," he pauses, waits for her to fill in the space, to give her name.

"Mills." She responds with an unamused tilt of her head. "Regina Mills."

"Hmm, well Miss Mills. I am not saying that we, as humans, are inherently good, but I am saying that we have the option. We have goodwill, unlike animals, we have a choice to act on that will." His words flow easily, his voice exudes confidence, security, and if she wasn't so used to the british accent from living in London for the last semester, she is sure that the lilt to his words would make her blush.

No matter how handsome she finds him, or his voice, she still can't believe what he is saying, can't understand his view. "You set us that far apart from animals? You don't believe we act for mere self preservation above all else?" Regina leans forward as she questions him, her forehead creasing in confusion, shock even, that anyone, especially someone as knowledgeable as a professor could honestly believe such a thing. "Are you really that idealistic?"

His smirk grows wide, and she finds it mildly irritating, condescending. She responds by leaning back, straightening her shoulders, and crossing her arms, an action that puts her cleavage clearly on display. His smirk falters, and she can track his gaze traveling downward, just for a moment, a moment that makes her feel like maybe she has the upper hand, and she briefly wonders what that says about her. Why she feels the need to feel in control of the situation, of most situations.

"Are you so cynical as to think otherwise?" He questions, and her jaw drops open, a response not quite prepared, just on the tip of her tongue, but he continues. "Kant's theory of goodwill supplies that our will is good as long as we act on something out of duty rather than inclination." He steps in her direction, walks to the edge of the seats until he is as close as he can be with her in the fifth row. "I understand that people do act out of their own inclination, that they do things to serve themselves, and themselves alone, but I also believe that people can act out of duty, act in accordance with moral law."

Her eyes are pinned to his, and she had almost forgotten about the class, had almost felt like there was nothing beyond the two of them, beyond this conversation, but then another student speaks. The young man's voice sounds from the opposite side of the lecture hall, and it has the professor's eyes lowering, then turning, and she slowly comes back to her surroundings, begins scrawling her notes, listening intently.

By the end of class her right hand is cramping, several pages of her notebook filled with some valuable information, some pointless, in her opinion. Professor Locksley made some interesting points, some valid ones, but throughout the past hour Regina found herself in disagreement more often than agreement. She thinks that should probably concern her, the way their differences of opinion could affect her grade, but at the moment all she can think of is coffee, a large, warm latte in fact, something to get her through her afternoon classes.

"Miss Mills?" His voice finds her ears, and now she knows she was wrong, now she notices that the accent she thought herself desensitized to is definitely attractive still, definitely affects her.

She looks up from her messenger bag, blindly closing it as she meets his eyes, and it is only now that she notices they are practically alone. Apparently she was thinking about coffee longer than she realized.

"Would you like to discuss the lecture?" He asks, lips lifting at the corners, dimples deepening on his cheeks.

She stands, smoothes the creases from her shirt, before lifting her bag to her shoulder. "I would," she says a smile pulling at her mouth, "but I'm afraid you would find most of my views in opposition with yours."

His smirk widens into a smile at that, a heartwarming smile that has her responding with a similar bright grin. "I think the world would be rather dull if we all agreed on everything Miss Mills."

She nods, lifts an eyebrow as she allows her eyes to travel over the structure of his lips, the stubble of his jaw. "True."

He gestures toward the door, steps aside, then says, "I was just about to get a cup of tea. Care to join me."

* * *

><p>He notices her immediately. She is wearing red, a deep crimson, and it suits her, draws his eye. Red in a pool of gray, of black and tan, of neutral tones and neutral faces. She stands out. She is stunning with dark flowing hair framing her face as she stares at her desk, at her notebook.<p>

He shakes his head, brings his focus back to the task at hand, back to teaching. He is her teacher, and he mentally scolds himself for the attraction he feels just from a mere glance in her direction. It isn't like he's new to this. This is his fourth semester teaching at King's College, his fourth semester as a philosophy professor, and he prides himself on his skill, on the way he can connect with students.

He knows part of that comes from his age. He is young, straight out of a master's program into teaching. The youngest of his students, like those in this first year ethics class, are only five years or so younger than him. Some of his older students are his age, but he is a popular professor, well liked, yet he has never, ever pursued a personal relationship with a student. He never intends to. Such conduct would be unethical.

She changes that. She makes him want to bury himself deep within her, kiss and caress her warm skin, wrap his fingers in her soft hair. Her words cut through the lecture hall, a deep, sultry voice, velvet flowing to his ears, and he had been able to divert his eyes before that, had been able to avoid looking and staring, but now his gaze is drawn once again, and for the first time, he can see the warm brown of her eyes looking back.

She disagrees with him, that is clear. Her words are cynical, negative, and she reminds him of himself. She reminds him of the man he used to be, of the young man who lost the love of his life in childbirth, the man who didn't want to live in a world without Marian, didn't know how to raise a son alone, but she has something he didn't; passion.

Passion exudes from her, pours forth like hot water from a spring, and it makes his lips curve up, makes him want to find out just how passionate she can be. That is, until she leans back in her seat, crossing her arms beneath her chest, providing him with an ample view of the supple curves of her body. He feels his cheeks heat, gulps audibly, and clears his throat before addressing her again.

They banter, and it is all too brief, interrupted by an eager young undergraduate who seems to be aiming to be teacher's pet. Little does the young man know, that position was filled the moment Regina Mills called him 'idealistic', the moment she questioned him with those plump, red lips, the moment she rolled those brown eyes.

He asks her to join him for tea, and she does, well, she gets a latte with an extra shot of espresso, and explains to him her need for caffeine if she is going to stay awake for Professor Leopold's course on classic literature.

"You don't like his class?" It surprises Robin, yet another thing that surprises him about Regina.

She smiles, sips at her latte leaving a faint red mark from her lips on the cup. "I do like the class," she responds, meeting his eyes as she sets her cup next to his, "well, I like the subject matter at least, but the Professor's teaching style is a bit," she pauses, thinking, "dull."

He knows Professor Leopold, and dull doesn't begin to describe him, not to mention his reproachable behavior with young, beautiful undergraduates. Robin has a moment of self-doubt, of insecurity, and he wonders if sharing this time with Regina makes him no different than the perverted old Professor he abhors, but then her hand is on his arm, his wrist, where his sleeve is lifted to reveal a tattoo, and the brush of her skin against his pumps blood to regions of his body long ignored.

"What's this?" She questions, and he explains the crest, the tattoo his father had, and his grandfather, and now him, explains that he hopes his own son will never feel obligated to do the same. He sees her eyes drop to his left hand, gaze searching for a ring, and he isn't sure what makes him open up to her, isn't sure why he shares, but he does.

He tells her of Marian, of Roland, his toddler, and she shares in turn, tells him of Daniel, her first love, and how he died too soon. It makes sense to him, her negative outlook on life, on people, and he wonders what else has happened to her, but then she is crossing her legs, her knee bumping his, and his mind is drawn to that knee instead. Drawn to her knees, and her thighs, and what lays between.

She knows he finds her attractive. That is clear, painfully obvious, but it is also clear how she blushes as they talk, how she wets her lips frequently, sliding her tongue between teeth and flesh, and how she smiles even when she is accusing him of being unrealistic and utopian. He laughs, tells her she is distrustful and skeptical, and she responds with exasperated sighs, sighs he wishes were made out of pleasure rather than irritation.

"I am." She states, and he tries to mentally catch up, wonders if he missed something while he was thinking of the silkyness of her hair.

"I'm sorry?" He questions, brow furrowing in confusion. She smiles, and he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of seeing her smile. It is glorious and bright, and passionate, everything about her is passionate.

"I am cynical," she sips at her drink again, "and skeptical, and distrustful. Everything you said, but," she looks at him, her brown gaze filtering beneath dark lashes.

"But?" He questions, inching closer to her, his voice lower.

"But, you make me feel less so," she smiles, blushes, and a rush of pride flows through his veins knowing he brought that color to her cheeks, "you make me feel less sardonic, more optimistic, almost hopeful."

He smiles at that, no, smirks, and he knows that this woman, that Regina, will have him questioning everything he thinks he knows.

* * *

><p>It takes three weeks. Three torturous weeks before Professor Locksley, or Robin as she has come to call him, finally touches her, finally does what she's been waiting for since the moment she first saw him.<p>

It's been weeks of arguing, of laughing, of flirting. Weeks of foreplay and banter, weeks of getting to know each other, and weeks of denying the sexual tension stretched tight between them. She is a rubberband stretched taught, has been waiting and waiting, and when Robin finally relents, she can feel her entire body snap with relief.

Hands coast across her skin, calloused fingers skimming and grasping, and his lips, those glorious lips are leaving hers, trailing a moist path down her chin, the column of her neck, and along the dip of her collarbone. She is eager, desperate even, her fingers unbuttoning, unfastening until she can feel his flesh, caress his toned torso, and he gasps against her neck at the contact.

The sound has her arousal heightening, even more wetness gathering where she is already slick and warm between her thighs, but she can feel him pulling back, feel him slowing down. She pushes her hips into his, grinds herself against his arousal, where he is solid and hard against her.

She knows what he is thinking, knows the argument he is about to make, because he has been making it since they first met. He tells her she is his student, that it isn't ethical, that he'd be taking advantage of her, and she tells him they have different views on ethics. That has been clear from day one, and she tells him how she wants to feel him inside of her, how they really are no different than animals, and all animals have urges that need to be sated.

"Regina." He whispers, her name slides passed his lips, and it makes her shiver, makes her hold up a finger to his mouth as they pull apart.

"Robin," she takes a step back from him then, lets his heated gaze travel the expanse of her almost naked body, "you are not taking advantage of me." She moves her hands, fingers finding the clasp of her bra, black lace, and she loosens it, lets the straps fall down her arms. "If anything, I'm the one taking advantage."

He swallows, eyelids fluttering closed as his breathing quickens noticeably. He leans against the desk behind him, finds some balance, and she can't help but appreciate the way his abdomen curves and flexes as he moves. She only wishes she had pushed the shirt all the way off his shoulders before stepping back and baring herself. She wants to see more, wants his biceps, his arms, wants to scrape her nails along the flesh of his back, wants to press kisses along the stubble of his jaw.

He stands there, those blue eyes slowly opening, and they aren't so blue now, darkened, almost black, and right now she is certain they aren't as far from the animal kingdom as he may think because he is looking at her with a carnal hunger, a hunger that makes her feel like his prey, prey that would willingly fall.

She smiles, a coy thing, and she can see it in his face, see his resolve completely fade away as she stalks toward him, quickly morphing from prey to hunter. "Professor?" She questions, chuckles at his reaction to the title, and brings a perfectly manicured nail to his chest, scrawling slowly across his skin as she speaks. "I'm quite willing to learn," she lifts both hands, pushes his unbuttoned shirt back, over his shoulders, lets her hands glide across his heated flesh, looking up at him through dark lashes, her eyebrow raising in challenge, "if only you'd teach me."

* * *

><p>He doesn't know how it came to this, when it came to this, but he isn't sure he cares, not with her body writhing in front of him, his cock buried deep inside of her. She is wet, so ungodly wet, and the slickness coats his thumb as he rubs her clit, massages her while he languidly moves his hips back and forth, in then out.<p>

She already came once. Bit her lip, muffling moans, while she came on his tongue, while her body squeezed and throbbed around his fingers. This isn't what he had in mind when he told her he'd be working late, grading papers into the wee hours of the morning. Granted, this is actually what he's had in mind since the moment he laid eyes on her, but he never planned on acting on it, not even when she made it clear that she wanted it as badly as him, not even when she showed up here tonight.

Then she stripped off her long jacket, revealed only strips of lace and soft skin beneath, and he couldn't contain himself, couldn't stop his feet from closing the distance, his hands from exploring, from finally feeling her silky tresses wrapped around his fingers.

He moves inside of her slowly, pushing forward until he can't get any deeper, pulling back until only the tip of his erection remains in her. This motion, this pace, has her fisting at the edge of the desk, her eyes squeezing shut with each thrust forward, and it allows him to hold back, allows him to watch her, bring her closer and closer to that edge without toppling over himself.

He wants her to come, wants to bring her pleasure, and he wants to be selfless, as selfless as possible in this situation that makes him feel very selfish, makes him want to take rather than give, but he doesn't. He gives, and he gives, and he hopes that she can sense his choice to please her above himself, hopes that she can feel that he would always put her first, will always put her first.

Her eyes open then, seek his, and something is so fragile about her. He knows that underneath all of her pessimistic babble she has a pure heart, a soul longing to trust, longing to remove itself from the disillusionment of the world she knows. He wants to give that to her, thinks perhaps he has, because he can see the trust in her eyes, he can see the mask she lets fall, shrivel, and fade.

"Robin, I'm, I'm going to," she is gasping, hips bucking out of rhythm, and so he grasps at her, holds her still while he pounds faster and harder, and she is coming around him, throbbing against his cock, sounds of ecstasy leaving her lips, expletives leaving his as he spills over, empties himself into her.

It is much later, after they dress, after they make it back to his apartment, and after they undress again that they lay in a nest of twisted sheets. That is when she confesses that she thinks he might be right, that there might be some good in some people, or at least, some goodwill.


	2. Professor Leopold

_**This takes place 3 days after Robin and Regina meet in that first lecture. Another little one-shot in the professor/student A/U verse. A guest requested Robin saving Regina from dirty old Prof Leopold. This isn't quite that but is lead up to something down the road. Enjoy! :)**_

It is Thursday, a bright Thursday afternoon, and Robin can't believe he has only known Regina for three days. Three days, three lectures, three conversations shared over beverages at King's Coffee Shop.

He is quite torn about the whole thing, feels like a letch, a dishonorable man, because even though he has done nothing inappropriate with his beautiful, intelligent student, he has thought about it. Truth be told, he has thought about it a lot.

Even now, as they walk along campus, he can't help but watch her mouth, her lush lips as she speaks. He hears the words, comprehends her disenchantment with the world, with people, with him and his ethical views, and he can even empathize. He felt the same way, after he lost Marian, he said the same things that are leaving Regina's gorgeous mouth.

"Consequentialism allows for reprehensible acts." She is walking beside him, debating the topic of today's lecture, arguing with him as usual, and he adores it, thrives on it, on her. "If the ends justifies the means, then you can justify deplorable actions, crimes, as long as the end result is morally acceptable. It is preposterous to think people act out of other's well-being rather than their own." She pauses then, halts her steps, and her eyes move to his, searching, and whatever she is seeking he wants to give her. He would gladly give her. If only he agreed with her.

"Moral judgements are decisions Regina, and must be made situationally." He moves to stand in front of her, only six inches of space between them, and the close proximity is something he's growing used to, too used to he thinks as he takes a step back. "Joseph Fletcher described it best. Only one thing is intrinsically good, namely, love, nothing else."

"Yes, but he had to define love." She states passionately, swaying closer to him, and his ears are listening to her words, but his eyes are transfixed to the scar on her lip, the scar he has seen in his dreams, touched in his dreams, three blissful nights of dreaming of Regina Mills. "He described it as a desire to promote the well-being of people, but that's just it Ro-" she pauses, catches herself about to use his name, and why shouldn't she, he's been using hers since the second day, "Professor Locksley. People don't act out of the well-being for others. They are either indifferent, or have malicious intent."

"That's not true Regina." He tilts his head, furrows his brow, and he hates whoever made her feel this way, made her think this way. He knows she lost her first love, knows Daniel died in a car accident when they were both seventeen, and she knows of his loss, of Marian's death during Roland's birth, but he can't believe that she has such a negative outlook on life due to that one loss. He knows there is more, can sense it, but he won't press her. No, he wouldn't dream of it, but he will try to convince her she is wrong, that people are not so evil.

"Regina," he is lost in those brown eyes, mentally preparing his argument, but he doesn't get the chance to voice it.

"Ah, Professor Locksley." The voice comes from behind him, a familiar voice, and Robin releases a sigh, let's his eyes close briefly before turning and greeting Professor Leopold.

"Professor, lovely day isn't it?" He can be pleasant with the man. He dislikes him, finds him repugnant, but he can exchange polite remarks about the weather without showing his disgust.

"Quite lovely I'd say." The man responds, but his eyes are on Regina, not Robin, and the way he says lovely implies he is not talking about the day at all.

Robin feels his blood heating, his fists clenching, and he thinks it funny, finds it odd that he has no trouble being polite to this despicable man in any other context, but with the way the old pervert is eyeing Regina, he feels ready to land a punch in the older man's face.

"And who is this beautiful young lady?" Leopold questions, and Robin nearly finds himself stepping to block Regina from the other man's view, but she moves first, steps forward, lifting her hand.

"Regina Mills," she takes the wrinkly old letches hand in hers, and the thought of their skin touching has Robin biting his tongue, his lungs expelling and retrieving breaths at a hurried pace, "I'm in your classic literature class Professor Leopold."

"Ah, of course." The old Professor smiles, and looks as if he is about to address Regina again, but she abruptly turns to Robin, thanks him for the discussion, and bids them both a good day before walking away at a brisk pace, the wind blowing her hair to the side. He notices her hair a lot, too much, and he shakes the mental image of her mouth parting, releasing gasps of pleasure while he kisses along her jaw, fingers clenching in that soft hair. He shakes it away, and focuses once again on the man in front of him, the man who is still watching Regina.

"Hmm. Well isn't she something?" Leopold questions.

Robin clenches his jaw, does step in the older man's eyeline this time, blocking her departing figure from view. "She is a student."

The man smiles, a filthy thing, yellow stained teeth glinting in the sun. "But that is what makes them so tempting Professor," he is speaking softly, almost a whisper, "forbidden fruit." Then with a wink he departs.

Robin can feel bile rise in his throat, turns to look in the direction Regina took to leave, and he swears he won't let that dirty bastard near her, won't let him add another to the long list of people who must have already hurt her.

_**Review and let me know what you think or if there is anything you'd like to read.**_


	3. The First Kiss

_**I'm trying to take these one-shots in order now so it isn't confusing. This takes place 7 days after their first meeting in the lecture hall, and happens before their 3 week first time :) Isazozo on tumblr requested a first kiss and this is what happened. This is Regina's pov. Enjoy.**_

It's a soft caress. A gentle whisper of mouth against mouth, and it isn't at all what she wants. She wants more, so much more, has wanted more since the first moment she saw him, the first moment she heard him speak. It doesn't even matter that the optimistic dribble that leaves his mouth is in complete discordance with everything she knows. That only makes her want him more.

She started this, she had to, he never would. She knew he wouldn't act on the physical attraction between the two of them, so it was her that leaned closer, her that pushed every inch of air between them away until her chest collided with his, and it was her that wrapped arms around his neck, pulled his lips toward hers, her that closed the distance.

It isn't her softening the kiss though, isn't her pulling back, turning something passionate and lustful into something chaste and innocent. No, that is him, all him, and it makes her want to laugh, makes her want to cry, because it is so like him, and she has only known him for seven days. One week.

One week of lectures, one week of conversations, and finally she has him alone, has him beside her in his car, shaded by the darkness of night, and she is kissing him. She is kissing him with the pent up sexual frustration she has felt during every second of their banter over the last week, and he is responding, well, was responding.

Now he is separating, moving away from her, and she releases her hold on his neck suddenly wary, concerned she read the signals wrong. Then she sees his face, examines how his brows are knit together, eyes squeezed shut, the frustration tensing his jaw, and perhaps she shouldn't look, but she does, and it is clear from the bulging of his pants that she has not misread his attraction to her.

"What is it?" She questions, her hand grasping his as it flexes above his thigh.

"Regina," His eyes open, and the dilation of his pupils is surely matched in hers. Just the way he says her name, growls it, has a heat pooling low in her belly, a slickness gathering at her core, and she wants to kiss him again, moves forward to do just that, but he stops her, nuzzles his forehead into hers instead, and lifts his free hand to her cheek, feathering into her hair.

"Regina," he whispers in the space between them, and she knows what he is going to say, knows he's going to deny their attraction, but he doesn't, "you are my student, and as much as I want to," he pauses, takes a breath, "we can't do this." He doesn't lie, doesn't claim nothing is between them, and she respects him even more for that, wants him even more.

"We are both adults Robin." She lifts her head from his, meets his gaze, and she speaks sternly. This is the first time she's used his name so freely, and there is no hesitation, no wavering of her voice, and he clearly likes it, likes the way she says it. His eyes soften, his hand turns to squeeze hers in turn, their fingers interlace still resting on his lap.

"It wouldn't be right Regina." He is shaking his head, and he looks so torn, miserable even, and something switches in her. The passion and lust clouding her mind shift and twist to something crooked, to guilt, shame, because she made him feel this way, she has him questioning his ethics.

It's all she's wanted him to do since the moment she heard him spouting his naive beliefs, idealistic theories, but now, now she feels like she is corrupting something good, perhaps the only good thing in this world. Certainly the only good thing she has seen since Daniel died.

There is a stinging in her nostrils, a thickness in her throat, and she knows what is coming, has dropped enough tears in her life to pick up on the signals before her eyes even start to water. She draws her hand from his, and shimmies further away from him, back into the passenger's seat. "I should go."

He says something, tries to stop her, but she is already pulling the handle, already pushing the door, stepping from the vehicle. She hears her name, a desperate plea, and it has her turning, has her wanting to reassure him that he did nothing wrong, because he hasn't, and she has already caused him to question himself enough.

She waves, even manages a small smile, maybe more of a grimace, but in the distance and the darkness she figures it is convincing enough. She tells him she'll see him tomorrow, thanks him for the ride, and turns again before he can see a single tear ripple passed her cheek. That's all she allows herself, that one tear.

_**Alright. That's all I've got for now, but I have a few other one-shot already planned thanks to people's lovely requests. If there is anything specific you'd like to see let me know :) Thanks for reading, and come find me on tumblr if you like, whitebuddah0524**_


	4. Indifference and Passion

_**Alright, this is my last update on this series for at least a week. I didn't want to leave you with angst. Enjoy the read. This takes place the day after their first kiss, which was the last chapter. :)**_

She walks in confidently, but her eyes refuse to meet his. She doesn't smile, doesn't frown, looks indifferent as she heads straight for her seat, a seat two rows further back than usual. It isn't that he blames her. He feels like a jerk. He is the one who offered her a ride, he is the one flirting shamelessly every chance he gets. Not that she doesn't flirt back, but he is her teacher, he is in the wrong.

The lecture passes in a haze, and he glances her direction more often than not. Sometimes she is looking, but her gaze is vacant, empty, that passion and fire reduced to a burning ember. She doesn't speak, doesn't argue or debate his ethical view, his lesson plan, and it has him frustrated, burning with irritation, because he knows she wants to, knows she doesn't agree.

She leaves quickly, doesn't even give him a chance to round the desk before she is out the door in a mass of students, but he is feeling determined, feeling certain, and he will speak with her. He refuses to let another moment pass without explaining, without her understanding.

He finally catches up to her in the stairwell, and she hears him say her name, he is sure of it, but she continues walking, keeping pace with the students and faculty surrounding her. It only causes him to pick up pace, and just as she is rounding the last corner he stops her, a hand on her bicep, and she turns his direction with a sigh, a frustrated sigh.

"It's fine Professor Locksley." She is stiff, shoulders straight, and he is thankful that the stairwell is emptying because he isn't sure he can keep himself from touching her, from comforting her, even if she denies needing it. "Really. Let's just forget about the entire thing." She is talking about the kiss, talking about last night, and Robin hates that she wants to forget, knows that they should, but hates the very thought of it.

"Regina," He wants to tell her how badly he wants her. He wants to push her against the wall, and show her how badly he wants her, but then she is talking again, those beautiful lips moving, those beautiful lips he dreamt of on his, dreamt of devouring with no judgement call in mind.

"I don't want to make you question yourself." She pauses, and her eyes drop downward, her brow furrows. "I don't want to be the one to distort your," she gestures with her hand, swirling it in the air, trying to formulate her words as she meets his eyes again, "morality."

"No. That's not," He pushes a hand through his hair, shakes his head, and he can't stand her thinking this. He wants her, wants her desperately, wants her more than he wants his next breath, and he doesn't want her to draw away, doesn't want to lose her because she thinks he is too good for her, too moral.

He has only known her for a week, but in that time he has felt things for her he hasn't felt since Marian, maybe not even then, and he won't let her feel this way, can't let her feel like she is unwanted, that his ethics are more important to him than her. It's just the opposite really. She is the one he feels selfless toward, the one he wants to serve, the one he feels inclined to do right by, whatever that may be.

He steps forward, and it all happens so quickly, frighteningly fast, but he can't stop it, has no control when it comes to this woman. His lips are on hers, not just on them, but devouring, hard and powerful against her mouth, just like he'd dreamt last night, just like he's dreamt every night for the last week. She opens her mouth to him, lets his tongue slide past, tangle with hers, and he vaguely feels her hands lifting to grasp the collar of his shirt, nails digging into cotton, into his skin, as he explores her mouth, her lips, that scar.

His hands lift, and he almost runs them through her hair, almost laces his fingers into her tempting locks, but he isn't sure he could stop himself if he did. He settles for her neck, her jaw, and angling her head so he can better kiss her. It is a powerful kiss, but not overpowering, something simple, not demanding. He wants to show her she is wrong, wants her to know how desperately she is wanted, needed. She is his student, he her teacher, but if that were not the case, he would have no hesitation in taking her on the floor of this very stairwell.

He is hard against her hip when he finally pulls away, breathing heavily into the space between them, and his hands move to settle on her hips. She is against the wall now, and he doesn't recall moving her there, but she is smiling when he looks at her, biting her lip, her cheeks flushed, eyes dark, and he drops his forehead to hers, wishes it was him biting that lip.

"You make me question a lot of things Regina, but you don't make me question my morality. I know I want you, and if we were in any other situation," he stops, doesn't need to finish that sentence because he knows she doesn't understand. She has told him as much, told him it is ridiculous when they are both consenting adults, and it is just sex, just a physical act of release.

He doesn't care about any of that at the moment though. All he cares about is the look on her face, the fiery passion that has returned to her eyes, and he returns the smile, let's them enjoy this one little moment before they go back to reality, before he has to continue to fight the signals, fight his own body, and fight Regina.

_**Let me know what you think :)**_


	5. Something About Regina

_**I'm still on vacation, but had a little time to write today so here is an update. Remember, this is all going in order now, but is still before Robin and Regina's first time (3 weeks post meeting that was included in chapter 1). If you are reading my multichap BTD, I wrote on the flight, and will finish the chapter, and edit on the flight back home so I'll be updating that fic on Wednesday. Sorry for the long wait. In the mean time, enjoy this ;)**_

He isn't sure what it is about Regina. What she does that makes her so irresistible to him. Even now, as he sits at his desk, glancing upwards over the frame of his glasses, he is half hard just looking at her. It was the kiss, yesterday's kiss, and he is still mentally berating himself for such poor judgement. Part of him wanted to see her smile, wanted to make her happy, demonstrate his feelings, but another part of him, a selfish part, hoped that kissing her would help, would relieve some of the tension he feels every time he glances her direction.

It didn't help. No, it only made it worse, far worse, and now she seems determined, adamant in her flirtation. She is dressed in red again today, a red v-neck sweater, snug to her torso, and he knows she purposely left that top button undone, purposely left a small amount of black lace visible. She winked at him as he was handing out the blue essay booklets, smiled that bright smile that always has him smirking back in spite of himself.

She is a picture, a vision, and it reminds him of the first time he saw her, his first glimpse of Regina Mills. It was only a little over a week ago, hardly enough time to justify how he is feeling, but what is he to do about it? Maybe it's her passion, maybe her tenacity, and he isn't sure he'll ever know what it is that draws him to her like a fly to honey. He has seen many beautiful women in his day, known many of his students found him attractive, and he knew they were beautiful, young, intelligent, but there is something about Regina, something no one else has, he just doesn't know what it is.

If he had any doubts about her purposeful intentions to break his resolve, his determination for them to stay only Professor and student, they disappear when she looks up from her test booklet, meets his gaze, and pulls the pen she is holding to her mouth, lightly biting the tip as she grins. It has him breathing faster, casting his eyes back down to his work, down toward the booklets from his other classes that he needs to grade, should be grading. He does still have a job, and regardless of what his mind and body think, that job is not staring at Regina, imagining her mouth on his, her mouth on his skin, on his cock, his mouth along her neck, his tongue teasing her nipples, down to her hip, on her…

He shakes his head, chances one more look in Regina's direction to find her writing, scribbling into her booklet while trying to contain a huge smirk. This is going to be a very long semester indeed.

The hour flies by, and most of the students have their booklets dropped on his desk several minutes before the lecture usually ends. The next time he finds himself looking up, he sees Regina again, but only Regina, sitting in her desk watching him, her chin resting on her hands, elbows solid against her desk.

He leans back, wets his lips before asking, "are you finished Miss Mills?"

She smiles wide, clears her throat and moves to stand, bringing her blue booklet to his desk, and leaning slightly over in his direction as she places it in front of him. The position has his gaze dropping to her lips, those soft lips, then down her neck, and then to the view she is clearly hoping he'll catch. He doesn't disappoint, and he is certain she can probably see his eyes growing dark, his pupils dilating, but he glances back up quickly, meeting her eyes, playful brown eyes.

"Yes Professor. I just finished." She stands straight, shifts the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder before asking if he'd like to join her for a coffee at the King's cafe. He can't today. He has a faculty meeting over lunch, and he'll be forced to watch and listen to Professor Leopold's ramblings rather than Regina's. It shifts his mood, has a scowl marring his features, a foul anxiousness clouding his day, and he tells her as much. They've spent everyday together post lecture since that very first day of class, and the thought of not sharing their usual banter has him somewhat despondent, discouraged.

"That's upsetting." Her words catch him off guard, and he feels his heart pick up pace at the thought of her being as distressed as he is by losing their time together. "I was hoping you'd be able to help me with one of my assignments for Greek Philosophy."

His lips pull up at the corners, and the next words flow from his mouth of their own accord, leaving him utterly powerless to stop them. "Perhaps I could be of assistance this evening."

She chuckles, laughs, and he bites his lower lip, cheeks flushing as he takes in the double entendre. The tension between them even now is palpable, and he knows they should not be alone together, certainly not in any private setting, but before he can correct himself she responds.

"That would be great. Does seven work?" She is beaming, and he thinks she looks the most beautiful he has ever seen her, but then hesitation crosses her features, her brow furrows. "What about Roland?"

They have talked a great deal about his boy, his three year old. She knows he is a single father, and she actively listens to his prideful recounting of Roland's adventures, smiling and laughing with an understanding he usually only sees in another parent's eyes. He tells her that Roland will be in bed by eight, that it works better if she comes to his apartment at that time so he won't need to find a sitter.

She nods, jots down his address, and when he offers to pick her up she declines, tells him she'll take a cab and see him this evening. He watches her leave, spies her figure moving slowly into the distance, and he wonders what the hell he had been thinking. Having Regina alone in his apartment; why did that seem like a good idea, like a sound plan? If he can't resist her surrounded by a class full of undergraduates, how does he expect to resist her sitting beside him on his couch.

He shuffles the blue booklets in front of him, places them into his briefcase, and heads toward his faculty meeting, desperately trying to push thoughts of Regina Mill's from his mind.

_**I hope I'm not making Robin seem like too much of a pervy creeper. I just figure he has this undeniable pull/attraction to her, just like she has to him. Let me know what you think. :) And if there is anything you want to see. I will hopefully get to any requests in due time.**_


	6. Something About Robin

_**I'm back from vacation! This is Regina's viewpoint of the last part (classroom flirting) Enjoy! Thanks for reading and let me know what you think.**_

Yesterday's kiss has her feeling confident, secure, and determined. She wants Robin more than she has ever wanted anyone. Granted, she hasn't really wanted anyone since Daniel, but this feels more powerful than that, more commanding. She doesn't know why, can't quite comprehend why this man she has known just over a week has her feeling this way, has her thinking of him more often than not.

She dressed this morning with him in mind. A red v-neck sweater, two buttons unfastened at the very top, a slim belt at the waist, and she knows it is affecting him, recognized the hungry look in his eyes as he handed her an essay booklet, his fingers skimming hers.

Now it's her turn to don those hungry eyes as he sits at his desk and lifts a pair of rectangular framed glasses to his face. Something about the line of his jaw, and the way he wears those glasses makes her want to feel the scrape of stubble against her skin, against her breast, his tongue on her clit. She gulps, reels her thoughts back to the present, and shifts in her seat. She can feel her cheeks warming, and as she moves there is an undeniable wetness between her thighs. A wetness Robin is solely responsible for, an ache she needs him to relieve, and she is determined that he will.

He glances her direction often, distracts her with those warm blue eyes, and she is lucky to have known the essay material so well, lucky that she doesn't need the majority of her focus in order to finish her answers. She is working on her last question when she notices his heated gaze from beneath her lashes. She smiles, no, smirks, and then lifts her pen to her mouth, glides the end past her lips, and gently nibbles, a full smile pulling at her lips when she meets his eyes, sees his reaction. At least she isn't the only one shifting in her seat.

She completes her work quickly, always has, a habit from growing up with a mother like Cora, a mother always telling her to do better, telling her she is never good enough. Most of the students filter out slowly, and then as the last one drops their booklet on Robin's desk, she drops her pen, makes no more pretense, and allows herself to watch him, to observe.

It's more than physical, more than mere sexual attraction. She wants him because, yes, he is gorgeous, had her feeling aroused at the first word he spoke, but it is more than that. No one has ever listened to her like he does, validated her opinions and thoughts even though they are very seldom in line with his own. He isn't just interested in her body, doesn't leer at her like Professor Leopold. He cares, finds her fascinating, and when she is with him she feels like the only two people in the world, his focus so directly on her, on what she thinks, says, and yes, also how she looks.

He glances up again, and his eyes find her immediately, before scanning the rest of the lecture hall, finding it devoid of anyone else. He leans back, relaxes, asks her if she is finished, and as she moves closer, sets her booklet on the desk directly in front of him she watches his gaze travel her face, down her neck, and then along the steep v of her sweater, just as she'd hoped. He pulls the reading glasses from his face, an action that nearly has her pouting, but then his eyes meet hers, widened pupils surrounded by that blue that she could lose herself in, a blush skittering across his skin.

She finds herself disappointed when he tells her about his faculty meeting, that they can't trade their usual banter over coffee. She had questions for him, wanted some advice on another course, but then he is offering his assistance this evening, and his words have a picture coming to mind. A very pleasant vision of his hips grinding against hers, his cock buried inside of her, and it has her chuckling, smiling, wishing she was forward enough to tell him exactly what assistance he could give her.

She leaves the lecture hall with a bubbling excitement. She feels smitten, giddy, and she has to remind herself not to smile so wide, not to wear her emotions so plainly. She rounds the corner of the building, only feet from the exit, when she hears a voice say her name, a voice that has her heart racing, her palms sweating, and she gulps, steels her face, before turning to her Professor of classic literature.

"Professor." She nods in greeting, smiles politely, but then feels a shiver pass through her body when the old man stands before her, his beady eyes dropping to her cleavage.

"Miss Mills." He responds, a yellow smile donning his face, and then he is asking her how her day is going. He doesn't care, doesn't really even listen to her response as his eyes travel the expanse of exposed skin along her sternum, and now she is wishing she wouldn't have left those buttons open, wishes his eyes traveling her flesh didn't make her want to wretch.

"I should really be going Professor Leopold. Have a good day." She turns, pulls an arm up from her side to settle across her stomach as she does, and it feels like a protective movement, feels more secure, but then his hand is grasping her bicep, fingers sliding between her arm and her body, brushing against the side of her breast, and she turns, lifts her arm upwards and away from her body, so that his hand is only making contact with her flexing bicep.

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon." He grins, doesn't break contact yet. "We'll be discussing 'Lady Chatterley's Lover', one of my favorites."

She smiles, a phony thing dripping with contempt, but he does not know her, thinks she is being friendly, and she nods, an action that has him finally dropping his spindly fingers from her arm, and part of her hates to leave, hates to walk away from him because she knows he is watching her, watching each step. She wishes she could just disappear, poof away in a cloud, but then her mind shifts to Robin, to an evening together at his apartment, and a genuine smile pulls at her lips once more.


	7. Aristotle And Roland

_**Alright. I felt bad leaving you guys without the apartment scene. This is Robin's view. We'll pick up with Regina's view in the next part so we'll see some of the apartment from her viewpoint as well. This also covers two prompts for this series. Some of you wanted to see Regina meet Roland, well, you do here, and you'll see it from her view next, and thisisamadhouse over on tumblr wanted this whole apartment/study session thing (so send a big thanks to Marie) Enjoy. :)**_

It only takes one look at her walking through the door to tell him this is a bad idea, a poor decision, because she is beautiful, and lovely, and the smile she greets him with has a warmth spreading in his veins. How is he supposed to restrain himself when she is smiling like that, looking like this, smelling like something fruity, something spicy?

"Good evening Professor Locksley." She greets, stepping passed as he closes the door behind her, and when he turns, when he gets the full view of Regina Mills, it leaves him speechless, momentarily paralyzed.

She said she needed help with a class, had questions about Greek Philosophy, but she looks less ready to study, and more ready to tempt him. He has seen her don many articles of clothing since he has known her, has always noticed the clean lines and neat appearance of her fashions, and he assumes she was raised that way, because many a student has shown up to his lectures wearing sweats or the crumpled clothes they slept in (it is an 8am lecture), but not her.

However, tonight is entirely different from how he normally sees her. She is wearing a dress, a red dress, and red against her skin still drives him crazy, a heat running through him. She paired it with a black cardigan, something to keep warm in the chilly London air, and he is grateful for that knit material, and what it must hide from his eyes. He knows without it he would not be able to focus on anything but her bare shoulders, and how they would feel beneath his hands.

He has no idea how long he pauses next to the door, how long he stares at her before she finally interrupts his contemplation. "Robin?" She looks a mixture of concerned and amused, and he adapts quickly, tries to ignore the way her legs look in those heels, how her lips match her dress.

"Yes." He responds, walking further into the apartment toward the dining table and chairs. "Shall we get started?" He pulls a chair away from the table, smiles stiffly, and suddenly he feels awkward because there are things he would do with a visitor, things he'd say, but he isn't sure he should with Regina, not with a student, but she isn't just a student.

She walks over, eyes glancing around as she does so, and then places her bag on the table before smiling and lowering herself to the chair. "No tour then?" She questions, eyebrow lifting, a smirk pulling at her lips, and it has him chuckling, relaxing, because that is exactly what he didn't know about, whether he should show her around, but he wants to, and this is Regina, not just any undergraduate visiting his home.

"Would you like a tour Miss Mills?" He grins, moves to her side as he asks the question, but she declines, tells him later, and then she is pulling out her notebook, hurriedly filling him in on Aristotle and the political philosophy they have been covering in her other course. He takes the seat on her left, listens intently, trying not to let the way her hair sways across her face distract him, or the way he wants to push it behind her ear, revealing more of her eyes.

"I need to write an essay." She looks up from her notes, meets his eyes, and leans his direction slightly. "I want to draw a connection between Aristotle's political views of the city and his ethical views." Her eyes move back to her notebook, then back up to him. "I don't believe in his ethical theories," the corner of her lip lifts, "as you well know, but I can draw a connection between his thoughts on the subject of individual ethics and community politics."

He nods, finds it fascinating how her mind works, and he can't help but question what about Aristotle's ethics she finds disagreeable, what exactly she opposes. "What is it about Aristotle's ethical views you find a need to challenge?" He is genuinely curious, asks her earnestly, and he likes that she never gets defensive when he questions her thoughts, likes that she responds simply and eagerly.

"He believed that virtue has to do with the proper function of a thing or in our case, a human." She summarizes the philosopher's teachings, like that should be enough for him to understand, but he doesn't.

"Yes," he states, his gaze searching hers, "he taught that a human's proper function is to act through the soul, to be happy, have a sense of well-being, and to accomplish this through reasonable acts leading to and producing good character, morality, virtue."

She nods, furrows her brow and glances toward the table briefly before looking his way again. "But that assumes that humans have a soul, and that said soul strives for happiness and well-being, not just for oneself, and that said soul is inherently virtuous." She shakes her head, hollows out her cheeks. "I can't buy that. If his teachings were correct there would be a lot more people happy, and happy to help others because that would be actively engaging their own soul, actively securing their own well-being as well as another's," she looks down, sighs, fidgets with her pen, "but that doesn't happen. Not regularly, not often."

He can't stop himself then, the angle of her face has hair filtering his view, and he loves her hair, adores it in fact, but he'd rather see her face, rather meet her eyes, so he lets his fingers skim her cheek, push aside the dark tresses. He regrets it almost immediately, wishes he hadn't, because this is the first he has touched her hair, and it is soft, just as silky as he's dreamt, and it takes all of his willpower to pull his hand away.

"Do you never see people doing good Regina, see good in them and of them?" He knows very little about her family, hasn't wanted to pry the few times her parents have come into conversation because she always tenses, always changes the subject. He does know she is from Boston, and the way she holds her shoulders, the ways she dresses, her mannerisms, they all remind him of himself, how he was raised, how he was constantly corrected by his father.

She looks at him, or rather, she is still looking at him. "I see good in you Robin, but usually no, usually the good I witness in others is fleeting, or self-serving, or absent altogether." She is frowning, a sigh leaving her lips as she glances back down to her notes.

He doesn't know if it is the right moment, thinks it likely isn't, but he can't help himself and asks anyway. "And what about Daniel?"

Her eyes jump to his, her lower jaw dropping slightly before she can school her features. She swallows, but her face doesn't harden, her eyes don't close off and he can see the pain in pools of brown. She isn't hiding anything from him.

"Daniel was good." She smiles then, a reminiscent pull at the lips, but then it is gone, darkness clouding her happy recollection. "But he is gone. Dead in an instant, and after that," she pauses, breathes, brows knitting together, "I didn't see good anywhere."

"I know." He draws her from her thoughts, and she gives him a questioning look. "When Marian died I felt the same. I felt the entire world was a dreary and rotten place for no longer having her in it." His eyes haven't left hers, and they stay like that for a minute, the moment dragging on, understanding passing between the silence.

They spend the next hour discussing her thesis, discussing how she can easily draw the connection between Aristotle's views on individual ethics and his views of the community or city political ethics. It is 9pm by the time they move to the couch, sip at some coffee, and he had almost offered her something stiff, a whiskey, or something of the sort, but he thinks it is better to keep them both aware, senses alert, not dulled, especially him.

She makes him laugh, and it must be too loud, and Roland's room is just off the main living area, something he has neglected to consider when having company, but the boy normally sleeps like a rock, nothing waking him. Not the case tonight.

"Daddy?" A small voice sounds behind him, and Regina's eyes move from his face to glance over his shoulder. He turns to find just what he expected. His boy is standing there, warm and cozy in flannel pajamas, rubbing at his eyes.

"Roland, were we too loud?" He turns and gestures for the boy to move closer, to join them. Roland makes quick work of it, and Robin is pulling him to his knee after a matter of seconds.

"I heard sounds," Roland mumbles, his head resting against Robin's collarbone, his eyes searching Regina's face, "and I'm thirsty."

Regina is smiling, a warm grin and content eyes looking at them, and he wonders what she is thinking. Anytime they talk of Roland she gets this look, and now, as she looks at them, he is certain there is something he doesn't know about this stunning woman, something that gives her this nurturing expression.

"I could get some water for him if you like?" Regina states from beside him, her eyes questioning, and he nods, tells her that would be lovely if she wouldn't mind as he leans back onto the sofa, cradling Roland against his body.

She returns after a moment, a glass filled with water in hand. Not the plastic cups Roland usually drinks from, those are further from the sink, not as easy to find, and she is unfamiliar with his kitchen, something that makes him long for her to be better acquainted with it, with him, with them.

"Here you go Roland." She hands the three year old the glass carefully, sitting down beside them and introducing herself. "I'm Regina." She is smiling brightly now, and he can't imagine his boy will be any less taken with her than he himself is, not with that smile, not with those warm eyes.

He wonders why she can't see what is right before her eyes. Why she can't see the goodness in herself, the goodwill and morality that flows from her. He sees it so clearly, but she thinks people are awful, deplorable, and he knows she is right, that some people are, but not her, and he wants her to know that, wants her to know how lovely she is, how exquisite.

Roland greets her in return, tells her she is pretty, asks her why she talks funny, and it all has her laughing, has Roland giggling, and he was right. His boy is just as captivated as he is. They talk for several minutes, and by the time Roland has his glass of water finished, he is further on Regina's lap than Robin's, snuggled up close to her, yawning, eyes heavy. They say goodnight, and he thinks he sees tears in Regina's eyes when the boy leans over to kiss her, hugs her, and mumbles a 'goodnight'.

She is standing when he returns, her back to him, and all of their glasses have been moved to the kitchen counter. She turns and smiles, but it doesn't quite meet her eyes, and he doesn't know where she just was, where her mind took her, but he wants to, he wants to know everything about her.

"Do I need to leave?" She asks, and he is walking quickly toward her, closing the distance, shaking his head, and then he takes her hand, pulls her down a narrow hallway that leads to his bedroom. It is the furthest from Roland's room as they can get, and it is a large room, complete with a sitting area, so he figures it isn't as indescent as it could be.

That is what he figured anyway, but now, with Regina straddling his lap, her dress hiked up leaving a vast amount of thigh to his perusal, thighs that his hands are coasting over, he doesn't think it matters that they are sitting on the small sofa rather than the bed.

She is kissing him, her mouth desperate and urgent against his, and he is straining in his pants, solid and hard where she is grinding herself against him. He tries to slow the kiss twice, manages to separate their lips, but then she is telling him how wet she is, how badly she wants to feel him moving inside of her, and her words have him grunting into her mouth, his teeth grazing her lip, trailing a path down her jaw.

He is torn, and he tells her as much, tell her he can't take advantage of her like this, that she deserves better, that it isn't fair to her, she is his student, but with each word of opposition, she has a justification, and he imagines a lifetime of this back and forth, this banter. A lifetime of Regina.

_**Wow, Robin is really taken with her. I hope you enjoyed, and don't worry, you'll find out what happens next in Regina's viewpoint :D**_


	8. The Best Intentions

_**This is Regina's POV of the apartment study session starting when she meets Roland. :) Enjoy, and let me know if there are any specific prompts you'd like to see in this verse. I'm still filling in the missing 3 weeks from the first one-shot, and then I have a few prompts that I'll explore after the 3 weeks of them getting to know each other.**_

His boy is smaller than she thought he'd be, tiny, with a huge mop of brown curls and bright round eyes. Robin and her were being loud, laughing a lot, and it felt so natural, so genuine, she hadn't paused to think about their volume, or the fact that a three year old boy was asleep in the next room. The vision before her has her heart warming, her body moving instinctually closer to the pair, father and son.

She searches two cupboards before finding a glass to fill with water, and the short hunt makes her long to know this place better, to be a fixture in this home, with Robin. She figures it must come from growing up in such a cold environment, someplace daunting and unfeeling. The cozy welcoming feel of Robin and this place offer something she's never experienced, something she didn't know she wanted until now.

Roland smiles at her, tells her she talks funny, and she tells him the same. He is sweet and carefree, and their is a tug at her heart, a pain, when she thinks of what she could have had, what she almost had. Robin carries the boy to his room, and it gives her a moment to herself, a moment to reflect and contemplate.

Robin doesn't know. She has told him about Daniel, told him about her home, growing up, school and her love for horses, but she hasn't told him about the baby, hasn't told him that it wasn't only Daniel she lost. She wanted to keep him, wanted to raise him, but she was only seventeen, and Daniel was dead, buried under dirt and sod. Her mother wouldn't hear of it, sent her away for her senior year of school, sent her away for her entire pregnancy, and didn't see her again until the adoption was final, until her baby, her little boy was in the arms of someone else.

She thinks of him often, wonders what he looks like. He would be close to Roland's age, just a year younger, and everytime Robin talks with pride about his boy, everytime she sees the fatherly glint in his eyes, she feels it too, feels it with him.

She shakes away the thoughts, the demons and ghosts skittering through her mind, and turns to Robin as he joins her again. He looks thoughtful, inquisitive, and she wonders if those ghosts she had just thrown off still linger around her, like bubbles floating all around her, exposing her for who she is and what she's been through.

"Do I need to leave?" She figures she should. It is getting late, and her mind is not as lighthearted as earlier. Part of her came here hoping to seduce him, but she can't see that happening with Roland in the next room, likely rising at any moment to use the bathroom.

Robin walks toward her, shaking his head in a decisive manner, and she thinks he might kiss her, might finally forget his silly notions and enjoy her just how she plans to enjoy him, but then he is taking her hand, pulling her down a hall, and through a door.

His bedroom is large, and he makes it clear as they enter that he has only honorable intentions, that they can talk here and not disturb Roland. He sits, gestures for her to do the same, and so she does.

His jaw drops open, and she can see his neck moving as he gulps. He had not expected her to take a seat on him, straddling his lap, but he really should have, she has made her intentions fairly clear, has no hidden agenda, and he knows she wants him.

"Your intentions may be honorable Professor Locksley," she settles completely, her ass lowering onto his thighs, and it has her dress rucked up nearly to her hips as she leans in, her mouth a mere inch from his, "but that doesn't mean mine are."

She kisses him then, and he is breathing fast, harsh exhales leaving his nostrils. He is hard against her core, and she is thankful for how they are sitting, how it is just the right angle for her to feel his erection press firmly against her clit when she shifts her hips forward just a little, arches her back.

"Regina." It is a gasp, a whisper that leaves his mouth, and she swallows it, drops her lips to his again, urgent and imploring. He is kissing her back, but she can feel his hesitation, knows he is over thinking, analyzing, worrying, but then his hands skate across her skin, moving from knees, up and up, and she is desperately wet, no doubt soaking her lace panties, lace that she wore with this in mind, but his hands don't make it that far.

"Regina," he pulls away again, lifts a hand to comb through her hair, position their foreheads together as he tries to slow his breathing, "we can't do this. You deserve better. You are my student and this is," he shakes his head against hers, and she pulls back. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

Her hands lift to frame his face, and she tells him this is not wrong, tells him they are just two people who are attracted to each other, that their student teacher relationship has nothing to do with this. It is separate, and then she kisses him again, shorter but passion filled and needy, before she separates and whispers in a husky voice.

"I want you Robin," she shifts her hips against him, lets her eyes flutter shut, "you make me so wet," he groans at that, his breathing shallow again, "and I want to feel you inside of me." She does, has wanted nothing else since he kissed her in that stairwell. Her words have his hands grasping, the one still in her hair, and the other moving further up her thigh, reaching beneath her dress, resting just below her hip.

It only takes one more minute for that hand to travel back down, for him to be slowing their kiss again, retracting the tongue that was hungrily dancing with hers seconds ago, and then she is sighing as he removes his lips, sighing as she lets her hands fall from his face, his neck. This isn't what she wants. She wants him to be unfettered when they come together, free and deliberate, and it is becoming more and more clear that it won't happen tonight, that he needs more time to warm up to this.

She takes a breath, meets his eyes, and the blue orbs look remorseful, sad even. She doesn't want that, doesn't want him to feel regret so she smiles, lets him know it is okay, that she can live with this sexual frustration until he is ready to let go, until he can absolve himself of these silly apprehensions.

"I'm going to go back to campus." He opens his mouth, about to object, but she kisses it, nibbles at his lower lip, and as she pulls away he inches forward, kisses her back, firm and steady. "I'll see you in class tomorrow Professor." She winks, lifts herself off of him, and tries to ignore the outline of his cock, and the way his hands grip at her hips when he stands in front of her.

"Goodnight Miss Mills." His lips meet her temple, settle there, take up residence for several seconds before he is sighing, pulling away. His words have a smile creeping across her lips, or maybe it is the smudge of red lipstick on his mouth, either way, she makes her way back to her room that night feeling renewed, feeling like the whole world isn't a dark and evil place. He makes her feel that way, cherished, undamaged. He makes her feel safe.

_**Thanks for reading. Hope you're all still enjoying it. :)**_


	9. Consequentialism

_**This takes place the day after their apartment study date :) Robin's POV**_

They argue during his lecture the next day, well, they disagree, debate. It is not uncommon. Most days are spent the same, but he feels some shame today, a niggling worry that his fascination with Regina Mills might lead him to neglect his other students. None of them are as captivating as her, none of them challenge him like her, and each time she opens her mouth, each time she speaks of consequentialism versus deontological ethics he feels a pull, a magnetic tug funneling all of his focus onto her and her alone.

His anxiety fades after the lecture, when not one, but two other students come up to his desk to discuss John Stuart Mills and Utilitarianism. He is doing is job, his students are learning, and based on their questions, their critical examinations, he assumes his banter with Regina is actually helping rather than hindering.

He finds her waiting in the stairwell, leaning against the wall, the very wall he had her against days ago, and the thought makes him want to run fingers through her hair, run his tongue along her lips. They walk to King's coffeeshop slowly as she filters her ideas to him, analyzes her thoughts, and he loves it, wishes he could pick apart her brain, understand the inner workings of her soul, regardless of whether she believes she has one. Then again, he thinks he could listen to her talk about anything with that velvety voice, and he would be just as enthralled as he is now.

"People do not treat individuals as if they have intrinsic value," she scratches her temple as they walk, brushes hair behind her ear, and he wishes it was hand doing that, "and maybe they don't, maybe we don't. Consequentiallism is a more accurate betrayal of what can be observed in humans, in society."

She frustrates him, and he wants to stand in front of her, wants to tell her these are lies, lies she only believes because she has never been treated with said value, but that doesn't mean she isn't valuable, that doesn't mean she isn't of importance. She is, so much more than she knows.

"Regina there is no reason to believe that both of these theories cannot coincide throughout people, throughout our experiences." He does step in front of her then, lets the space between them dwindle to only a couple inches, and her warm brown eyes staring into his has his stomach fluttering, his mind swaying to the previous night, and how those dark eyes were even darker as she moved her body against his. Her hips grinding against his arousal, and he wonders, not for the first time, just how wet she was straddling his lap.

She smirks, blushes, and he thinks she must know the direction his thoughts have led because she is filtering her gaze beneath thick lashes, biting her lip, and swaying even closer. "Inevitably Professor Locksley," she lets her eyes travel down to his lips then back to his eyes, "all humans would sacrifice another person if it meant their own well-being, or if the consequences led to a greater good. No matter how deplorable the act, people will justify themselves based on this principle," her eyes shift, "and they do." Her grin turns down, and she is thinking, lost somewhere temporarily, and oh how he wishes he could be there with her.

A voice pulls them both from the moment, Professor Leopold, and Robin can't help but notice the way Regina's shoulders tense, the way her breathing picks up pace, and she straightens her shoulders, pulls a hand up to her cover her stomach in a defensive stance.

"Hello there Professor Locksley," Robin turns to his left, curtly nods at the older man joining them, and narrows his eyes as the other man has the audacity to look at Regina, eyes dropping to the sweeping neckline of her blue shirt, "Miss Mills."

Regina smiles, nods, greets the man, but she is tense, so unlike her behavior with him, and he thinks there might be something he should know, thinks he is missing something. He makes a mental note to question her later, to ask her what has her rigid and anxious around Professor Leopold, other than the obvious aversion anyone would have to the letch.

"It seems I've been seeing a lot of you lately young lady." The other professor is still addressing Regina, leering at her in a way that says he hasn't seen enough in his opinion, and when the old man's arm lifts, his hand settling on her shoulder Robin sees red.

Rage fills his mind, murderous inclinations, and he imagines this is what Regina means, this was her point earlier because Robin could see himself killing this man, taking the old perverts life simply for placing a hand on Regina, and he could justify it, he could say the consequences of such an action were for the greater good. He honestly believes that.

He nearly takes that step, nearly lifts his fist, but then Regina is speaking, taking a step away so that the older man's hand drops from her shoulder. "Excuse me Professors. I have another course starting soon," she continues speaking, continues distancing herself, her face like stone, frozen into a passive expression, "and I wouldn't want to be late." She turns completely then, sets a hasty pace back the direction they came, back toward his lecture hall, his office, and he knows she doesn't have a class.

She is free until her afternoon lecture on classic literature, the course Professor Leopold teaches, and then he is looking at the man beside him, knuckles turning white as the other man licks his lips, ogles Regina's departing figure.

"Be careful Professor Locksley," the man grins, shifts his gaze back to Robin, "students like that can get you into trouble." It feels like a warning, a piece of cautionary advice, but then the man grins wider, chuckles, and says, "Miss Mills looks like she'd be worth it though." Robin wants to say something, wants to make Leopold bleed, wants to make him bow down to Regina because she is far above him in all manners, but instead, he lets the old man walk away, lets his insides twist with contained rage, and then turns, heads back toward his office hoping he might spy Regina.

_**You'll get Regina's POV next continuing from this point :)**_


	10. Shared Anthology

_**I found more time to write today, and you get to reap the benefits. :) Thanks for the reviews by the way. I love getting them! LOVE LOVE LOVE it! :D Enjoy, this is Regina's POV after the last chapter **_

His face holds an urgency, and she sees him turning his head, back and forth, gaze searching the lounge she has settled into, nestled in the corner. It isn't King's coffee shop, the coffee isn't nearly as good, but it was closer, easier to flee Professor Leopold's lascivious scrutiny.

She waves at him, tilts her head, and she can't quite read his expression, isn't sure she's ever seen him wear it before. Relief floods his features when his eyes find her, and he doesn't break eye contact as he moves closer, blue searching brown, piercing and inquisitive.

"Regina," he says her name earnestly, pulling out the seat across from her and lowering himself, elbows resting on the table between them, and she finds herself leaning forward, closer, "has Professor Leopold," he pauses, shifts his eyes down to the table, almost cringing, "has he made any advances toward you."

She laughs, loud, covers her mouth with her hand and tries to rein herself in because she shouldn't find Robin's question so amusing, has felt personally affronted by Professor Leopold's suggestive comments and lecherous looks many times over the last week and a half, but the thought of the old pervert actually acting on it, that she finds humorous.

Robin on the other hand, he clearly doesn't. His hands are flexing on the table, knuckles turning white, and she almost places her palm on top of his clenched fist, almost tries to comfort him, until she remembers where they are, that they have an audience.

"Robin," she clears her throat, glances around at the few students and faculty also occupying space in the lounge, "Professor Locksley, I am perfectly capable of handling myself with that," she waves her hand in the air, searching for a moniker that properly describes the professor they are discussing, "man." She uses the term loosely, prefers to think of Professor Leopold as an animal, but then again, she thinks everyone is pretty much the same, some are just more up front about it. With the exception of Robin, she doesn't view him the same, he isn't like everyone else she's known. He is better. He is good.

That can be seen in the tenseness of his jaw, the concern in his eyes, and she finds it peculiar that he would be so anxious about the situation. Her brow knits together, and she wonders, questions, "What did he say Robin?" She whispers it, leans even closer to him, as close as the table between them allows.

He shakes his head, sighs, dismisses her question and tells her to be careful around the old professor, he isn't as harmless as he seems. She nods, promises him anything to alleviate his nerves, and leans back, asking jokingly if Robin can find any intrinsic value in Professor Leopold. He smirks, breaths out a small laugh, and then his eyes are sparkling again, and he's biting that lip as he smiles.

It draws her eyes, his teeth gliding against his flesh, and it makes her tongue slip across her own lips, wetting her mouth, a blush seeping into her cheeks. He grins at her, lets his hand, no longer a fist, bump against hers until she meets his eyes.

He looks around, glances back at her, and says, "Follow me." He is on his feet a second later, and she stands, grabs her coffee and bag, and she does follow him. Down a hall, then another, through a corridor, up some steps, and then through a closed door.

She walks in behind him, shuts the door and leans back. It is a small office, but more a library than anything else. Books are lined up snug along bookcases on either side of them, a window behind a desk directly in front of them, and then he is turning, a wide smile on his face.

She can see he wants to share this with her, share his space, that he is happy to have her see it, but when he looks at her the smile fades, his breaths quicken. She thinks it is probably the way she is looking at him, in awe, a huge giddy smile on her face, because for once she feels significant to someone, important, and he wants her to see this place, his small sanctuary, trusts her with it.

Whatever the reason for his shift, she is not complaining, certainly not when his lips crash onto hers, almost as hungry and desperate as the night before. Her free hand lifts to his bicep, and she grips, grasps, squeezes the fabric of his shirt, almost crushing the coffee cup in her other hand. He stops the kiss almost as quickly as he started it, sighs and tilts his head back, shaking it.

"I'm so sorry Regina." He moves to step back, but she won't let him, keeps her body firm against his, and she can feel him half hard against her hip. "I shouldn't have-"

She interrupts him, tells him, yes, he should have, and then she is grinning, relinquishing her hold on him until he is chuckling, moving aside to tell her about his books, his collection of Kant and Vaugn, and she thinks he is a nerd, an adorable, fascinating, lovely nerd. They talk and laugh, and if her mind occasionally falls to what it might be like to lay back on the desk, to have Robin desperately thrusting inside of her, well, who can blame her?


	11. Bare Your Soul

_**Here you go. Thank you for the comments and reviews. I really love hearing what you are thinking and how you are liking the series. Again, let me know if there is anything specific you want to read about these two, and if I haven't gotten to your prompt yet in the story, I will :) Enjoy some family feels.**_

She is breathtaking. Something he has known since that first day, but at this particular moment, with her hand tightly grasped around his son's, he can't tear his eyes away, can't pull breath into his lungs.

Roland and him have a routine. The weekend is a special time, and Saturdays, well, Saturdays are just for them. No grading, no reading or writing; Robin refuses to step a foot onto campus these days. It is just him and Roland, has always been just him and Roland, but not today.

He'd been surprised to see her. A mutual feeling if the look upon her face accounts for anything. It shouldn't have been such a shock though. The Natural History Museum is a popular spot on Saturdays, especially once the semester begins and students flood the Romanesque palazzo. They'd said hello, greeted one another, but after a couple minutes of gazing at her like a love struck teenager he informed her that Roland and him always spend the day together, and that they should get going if they want to see the exhibits before lunch.

Roland would hear nothing of it, practically through a fit at the prospect of not having Regina join them, and once again Robin was reminded of just how captivating she seems to be to all of the Locksley men. That is what brings them here now. Roland holding her hand, explaining the dinosaur exhibit while simultaneously peering behind his shoulder telling her they'll have to turn around to go through the creepy crawlies.

She laughs with his son, reads him the information posted along each exhibit, and for just a few moments he feels like someone looking in, peering through from the periphery, but he doesn't mind, is in awe in fact, and once again he wonders about this woman, wonders what he has yet to learn about her. She hoists Roland into her arms to get a better look at the hummingbird egg, the tiny item measuring smaller than a fingernail, and the moment seems so natural for her, but then Roland wraps his arms around her neck, squeezes her tight before thanking her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and something shifts in her carefree expression.

It almost looks like guilt, a mixture of longing and shame, but it disappears quickly, fading away along with the exhibits as they traipse faster through the halls, Roland tugging both of them along. It doesn't take long for them to reach the Earth's Treasury, where Roland quiets, holds incredibly still, and almost seems to go into a daze staring at the gems and shiny specimens from the earth.

Robin takes advantage of his son's temporary tranquility, doesn't let it pass, because he has already spent half the morning with Regina, yet has barely heard her voice directed toward him in that time. Maybe it is selfish, he thinks it probably is, but he'd like some of her attention as well, craves it, craves her.

He stands close to her, close enough to feel the heat radiate from her body, but then she is the one to shift even closer, to bump their hands, their hips. He isn't complaining, and the way she is grinning, staring ahead at his son while she does so, almost has him raising his arm to settle on her shoulders, almost.

"Is this your first time?" He questions, immediately regretting his choice of words, and he wonders not for the first time what it is about Regina that has him saying the wrong things, but then she smiles, no, smirks, blushes slightly, and it is clear she doesn't think they are the wrong things regardless of his beliefs.

"No Professor," there is a chuckle in her words, and something about her calling him professor always has him shifting uncomfortably, a tenseness stressing his shoulders, but it is also erotic, sexy, and she must know that because she always says it with a lilt to her voice, a gleam in her eye, "I visited the museum once last semester."

He smiles, calms himself, and she does that to him too, has him wound up one minute and fully relaxing the next. "It is a large museum Regina." He looks around, eyes landing on his son. "Roland and I have been here more times than I can count and have yet to see everything." Then he is feeling guilty, wondering what she had planned before his son and himself had bombarded her day, her time. "I hope we aren't keeping you from anything specific you were hoping to see."

Her lips pull up into a bright smile, and her gaze travels from his face, to the curly mop of brown hair standing in front of them as she shakes her head, lets it tilt to the side, and the action has her hair flowing in front of her shoulder, begging to be touched, begging to be combed through his fingers. She tells him no, says she has had far more fun with the two of them than she would have alone, and then she is asking about lunch, wondering if they'd like to get some.

It is Roland who speaks first, interrupting Robin before he even gets the chance to accept her offer. The boy is bouncing, smiling, and begging to get some cheese on toast and a cookie. They end up in the red zone of the museum, munching on sandwiches and soup, splitting a chocolate muffin for dessert, and as they are finishing, as Robin is preparing himself to separate, to bid good bye, Roland once again makes it clear how taken he is with Regina, and she with him.

The boy asks her to read him his monster book, his favorite part of his nap time routine, and although Regina is not the type to give in easily to requests, it seems saying the word no to his boy is quite impossible for her.

She looks at him, a question in her eyes, and he nods, tells her by all means join them, that he can drive her back to campus after, and she smiles, a warmth in her eyes he only sees when they are with Roland, and it only draws him deeper into this hole, deeper into this magnetism he can't seem to pull away from. He isn't sure he would want to if he could.

There is a niggle in the back of his mind, a warning, because the last time he had her at his apartment neither of them behaved in a manner suitable for teacher and student, but he ignores it, pushes it away, and who could blame him when both Roland and her are beaming, still walking hand in hand like the best of friends.

She reads him "Where The Wild Things Are", tells him that she's always loved the story, and then she leaves Robin with his boy, leaves him to tuck Roland into his bed, kiss him and brush the curly locks from his forehead. He spends a little longer than normal, lingers just a bit, because even though Regina is welcome company, he isn't used to sharing his boy, isn't used to not reading him his naptime story.

When he steps out of Roland's bedroom Regina is sitting on the couch, one leg bent up underneath her, and she is reading, her brow furrowing. The book was on his coffee table. He'd just been reading it that morning in fact, an edition by James Fieser addressing classical and contemporary ethical theories. He has marked a few pages, one of which seems to have drawn her attention, and it makes him smile, has him dropping beside her onto the sofa with a raised eyebrow.

She doesn't disappoint, never does, and he only has to wait a second before she looks at him and her mouth starts moving, her thoughts flowing forth like water in a fountain. "An action is morally right if the consequences of that action are more favorable than unfavorable to everyone except the agent?" She is quoting the author himself, Fieser's definition of altruism, and Robin is smiling, nodding in response.

"Come on Robin," her head tilts, and she brings up an arm, rests her elbow on the back of the couch as she shifts his direction, lets her head lay in her splayed fingers, "that is the very definition of consequentialism, of utilitarianism, and again allows for the justification of horrific acts."

He smirks, and her eyes narrow a little, but she doesn't say anything, just waits for him to speak. "There is a difference between altruism and utilitarianism Regina. One allows for actions to be ethical as long as the moral consequences benefit society as a whole, but the other, altruism, prescribes that actions are only ethical if they benefit all others," he pauses, tugs his thoughts to the surface, "except for the person performing the action that is, it need not benefit the actor."

She leans forward, lets the book fall to the cushion between them. "But who can say what benefits society as a whole, or what benefits each individual for that matter. People are not altruistic Robin." She sighs, shakes her head, looks at the hand she has resting on her knee. "It is a nice thought, a nice dream," her eyes lift to him then, warm but sad, "and maybe it can even be true for a fleeting moment, for some people, but it isn't natural."

He searches those sad eyes, ponders, and then his heart is beating fast, his palms sweating, and he knows the question on his tongue might have her pulling back, might have her shields lifting, but he needs to ask. "Regina, what happened?" Her brow furrows in confusion, she makes a questioning sound in her throat, and then his hand coasts over hers, both of them resting on her knee. "Other than Daniel, what happened?"

He refuses to believe her cynical views on mankind, on human morality, are all a result of lost love. He knows there is more, wants to know what it is, wants to know her. At first she tenses, and he almost takes it back, almost shifts and tells her they should talk about something else, but then her eyes are wet, just a little, but enough, and her jaw drops open, words being formed, but not yet being voiced.

She meets his eyes, swallows, and then she smiles, a small watery smile meant to give her the strength not to cry, not to let her lip tremble. "You know why I came here for college." He nods because he has his theories, then listens intently. "There are plenty of good schools in the states, but this was the only one where I was accepted that would put an ocean between me," she pauses, gulps again, bites her lip, "and them."

"Your parents?" He questions, doesn't blink, wants to see her response as much as he wants to hear it.

She practically shivers, her shoulders tense, and she nods, tells him Henry and Cora Mills could not be defined as altruistic, but leaves it at that, seemingly lost in nostalgia as she stares at their hands joined on her lap. He nibbles at his lip, curious, and he thinks it could either be a very bad time to bring it up, or perhaps the ideal time, so he does. "Why are you so good with Roland? Do you have younger siblings?" He knows she doesn't, she has told him as much, but something about his question seems loaded, heavy, and he wants to give her the opportunity to deflect.

She juts out her lower jaw a bit, bites down on her tongue, and releases a long sigh before meeting his eyes. The tears are almost falling, barely contained, but she still manages, still holds them back, and he wishes she wouldn't feel the need, not with him. Her hand turns, meets his palm against palm, and then she is telling him her secrets, sharing her soul, and he can't help but grip that hand of hers tightly, tethering them together.

"I have a child." She says it with her lips curling up at the corners, but they drop just as quickly. "I had a child." She emphasises the word had, tells him about her pregnancy, about Daniel not knowing before he died, about telling her parents, and the scar she holds on her lip from her mother's ring, and then she tells him about the adoption. She tells him how she never got to hold her boy, never got to see his face.

He isn't sure when he pulled her to him, but he knows it was him who initiated the contact, and he holds her close, smells the scent of apples and cinnamon as his nose settles in the warmth of her hair. He figures he should be surprised, but he can't say that he is, had suspected something, and this fits, explains her strong maternal instinct.

They sit like that for a long while, bodies snug and warm where they meet, and he hopes that she can seep some comfort from the contact, hopes that she drains him of any solace she can, and when they both seem to drift off, when they join Roland in sleep, he hopes she dreams of her future and not her past.

_**Let me know what you thought, or come send me a prompt on tumblr (whitebuddah0524)**_


	12. Distractions

**_Just a short little piece from Regina's POV to tide you over. I'm going to be spending some time writing the next chapter of BTD this week so I may not update again for a few days. Warning - icky Leopold below._**

She had kissed him, had pulled him from his awkward slumber with the touch of her lips to his, and it was chaste, gentle, kind, nothing like their previous kisses, but somehow more intimate. They had both woken stiff and sore, necks and bodies entangled in uncomfortable positions, but she couldn't bring herself to care, couldn't think of anything but him and his uncanny ability to unlock all of her mysteries by simply asking a question, by looking at her with those affectionate eyes.

He'd reassured her, comforted her, even apologized for the suffering she'd been through, but not once did she see pity in his eyes, understanding and empathy yes, but no pity. All the while he had one hand rubbing circles along her back, his fingers tracing her spine, but the other was in a tight fist resting near his hip, clenching and relaxing. She'd grasped that hand in her own, a silent question in her eyes, and he told her how angry he was for her, how no one should have ever forced her to give up a child, how if he'd been there he would have done anything to insure she wouldn't be harmed, that she wouldn't be alone.

Roland woke slowly, stepping from his room while rubbing his eyes, yawning, and she dismissed herself, told them she'd stolen enough of their father son time, and after mumbling reluctant good-byes, he was the one to kiss her. He was the one to lean in, and drop his lips to hers, his hand beneath her chin lifting until her mouth was in reach. He still looked torn, conflicted, as he pulled away, stepped back into his apartment, but there was something else too, a new boldness she hadn't seen grace his features previously. Dare she hope that he might finally be overcoming his reservations about them.

Monday morning is cold, chilling to the bone, but she has these memories to warm her, to keep the crisp air at bay. A brisk walk from her room to class is not so daunting when she knows he'll be there once she arrives. Just the thought has her lips curving into a smile, her head tilting slightly forward, eyes drawn downward.

That was her mistake. Looking down, dropping her guard, and it can't be more than a couple seconds later that she feels a solid mass collide with her body. Then there are hands, hands that really don't need to be brushing against her breast, or grasping so tightly at her hip just to keep her balanced.

Her entire body tenses at the invasion, or maybe the sound of his voice, she can't be sure which, but a moment later she is quickly stepping backward, stepping away from those hands, those eager fingers still outstretched in her direction.

"I apologize Miss Mills." He smiles, that yellow smile that has her cringing in response, a cringe he mistakes for a polite smirk. "I didn't see you there. You seem to be in quite a hurry this morning." His arms have finally fallen to his sides, his hands drawn snugly into the pockets of his pants, and she briefly wonders why they seem to be moving beneath the fabric, but then she lets the thought dissipate just as quickly because she already knows.

She actually smiles this time, curls her lips despite the disgust tingling throughout her body. It is the fake, courteous grin her mother taught her well, and she simultaneously bends her arm at the elbow, pulling her palm to her navel in a defensive stance. "I should have been watching where I was going Professor, and yes," she glances around the campus, observing fellow students briskly walking past, "I'm in a hurry to get to class. If you'll excuse me." She gives him a wide berth, steps to the farthest edge of the pavement to circle passed him, but somehow he still manages to touch her, still manages to make her feel like a caged animal.

"Regina," he has his hand out of his pocket, settling on her forearm, and the sound of her name leaving his lips has bile rising in her throat, her gut twisting and turning anxiously. "I seem to be bumping into you a lot lately." He chuckles at his own pun, and the smugness of his laughter has her turning to face him, the pretense of a smile dropping from her mouth.

"I'd almost say it was intentional if I didn't know better." She states cooly, pivoting so that his hand once again drops away from her appendage.

He grins, a lecherous turn of his lips, and he must think she is flirting, must imagine that she actually holds some attraction for him because he winks, tells her if she would like to intentionally see him that could be arranged. She just stares at him, expression passive, eyes vacant, and now she sees why Robin felt inclined to warn her about this man, why he doesn't trust the older professor.

"I don't intend on seeing you in any setting outside of the classroom Professor." Her curtness doesn't seem to trouble him, and she vaguely thinks he might be socially inept, incapable of picking up on basic cues, but she doesn't dwell on it any longer, doesn't waste her time. With a quick turn she is walking away, moving quickly across campus toward the Strand building, toward Robin, and she shakes off the disconcertment of the exchange, ignores the niggling anxiety scratching at the back of her brain. She takes control of her mind, returns to thoughts of Robin, of their shared Saturday with Roland, and she refuses to linger on the uneasy thoughts of Professor Leopold.

_**Sorry for the lack of Regina and Robin, but I wanted to fill in more icky Leopold because that is all going to lead up to something. But hey, you got her thoughts on their parting moments from Saturday...I think she is really starting to adore him :D Thanks for your reviews! I can't express how much I love getting them. Xoxoox**_


	13. Romance Interrupted

_**I couldn't just leave you guys with all that disgusting Leopold, and this was just begging to be written. So here, have some smut and frustration. :D**_

It feels like a date, like a romantic rendezvous, and it had been his own doing, his own idea. She just looked so glorious when she stepped into the lecture hall this morning, so carefree, and his head immediately trailed to the time they'd spent together Saturday, time getting to know each other, time sharing.

She had approached his desk after class, just like so many days before, but something was different than before, something more intimate twinkling in her gaze, and when her hand fell to rest on his, her smile directed so warmly at him, he couldn't help but ask her to join him for dinner.

Granted he said they could discuss John Stuart Mill, debate the philosopher's theories of utilitarianism, views on slavery and women's rights, but at the moment they are not discussing anything of the sort, not discussing at all.

His tongue is in her mouth, exploring, tangling with hers, and he thinks she started the kiss, but he can't be sure. They were both leaning forward, and her luscious voice was doing things to him, making him shiver as they stopped debating, as she questioned him, asked him to enlighten her on the subject. He can't recall what subject that was.

What a relief that he had brought Roland across the hall to John's apartment before she arrived. At least he had enough foresight for that, and it makes him wonder if he had expected this, had even planned on it, and that thought draws at his uncertainty, his apprehension. Apprehension that fades when she nips his lower lip gently with her teeth, sucking it into her mouth.

He may not be certain who started the kiss, but it is clear that she is the one progressing forward, pushing him back until he drops to the dining chair he had resided in during their meal. He has a hand on her hip, fingers gripping and grasping, and his thumb brushing against the bare skin just above the waist of her skirt has him straining against the fabric of his jeans, his hard length begging to be set free.

She is straddling him again, a familiar position, and he thinks it shouldn't be, thinks he never should have let it get this far, but a part of him refuses to care, refuses to pull back from a woman who makes him feel alive, makes him feel fulfilled and content.

His other hand lifts to her neck, and once again he debates threading his fingers through her hair, burying his hand in those soft tresses, but he is aware enough to know that if he does that, he won't have any control to stop them, to stop this before it goes too far. Or has it already?

God he is hard, and the way she is grinding against him, her skirt hiked up, makes him think he could come just like this, only his clothing and a thin layer of lace separating them. He can feel the lace against his fingers, could probably even see it if he was inclined to pull his eyes away from her face, or her neck, or that shoulder, wherever he is travelling and caressing with his mouth.

However, the thought of the fabric between them completely drifts from his mind when she moans in his ear, breathily whispers how badly she wants him, how she is so wet for him. At some point his hand had moved downward, had glided beneath her skirt to cup her ass, to shift her closer, and now he brings it around her thigh, lets his fingers settle between them, and the wanton gasp that leaves her lips, the feel of the moist fabric covering her, has him moaning her name.

She thrusts against his hand, rucks her hips faster than before, and both of them are breathing so fast, so hard, and her hands, both of which have remained on his shoulders, begin to move. One drops downward just a little, moves over his sternum and grasps tightly at the fabric of his shirt, fisting it, while the other hand moves to his on her neck, drags it down her body until it rests over her breast.

He can feel her nipple hard and taut beneath thin layers of material, and his mouth feels dry as he watches her, her head tilting back, eyes dropping shut, jaw dropping open, and he doesn't know when he started moving his thumb in this circular motion, doesn't know when he matched it with both hands, one on her nipple, one on her clit, but the desire to see her come is unbearable, excruciating, and he keeps up the motion, doesn't slow, applies more pressure with each strangled moan she releases.

She is almost there, so close, and he can tell by the way her face crinkles, the way she bites her lip, and she is gasping, clawing at his chest, and then there is a sound, a familiar sound, a disturbing sound that pulls them both from the haze.

It's the creak of the door, and she is jumping off of his lap, rapidly stepping away just as quickly as Roland is running into the apartment, blissfully unaware of what he has just interrupted. John on the other hand doesn't look so naive, a knowing smirk pulling at the large man's lips as he steps through the door. His friend apologizes, tells him he was called into work and has to leave, that smirk never dropping from his face.

Roland is distracted by Regina, has already tugged her to the sofa to read him a book, and Robin makes a quick introduction, watches as Regina greets John with a small smile and blush, as John greets her with a wide grin.

The evening progresses too quickly, and it feels like seconds later that he is helping her with her coat, placing a kiss to her temple, releasing a frustrated sigh, but she just smiles, tells him she'll see him tomorrow, and once Roland is tucked in tight for the evening, once he is laying in his bed alone, he can't help but wonder if she reached her peak or not.

_**Spoiling you guys again. I hope you like it ;D Now don't expect another update today! **_


	14. Hedonism

_**Here, have some Professor Locksley/Miss Mills conversation. **_

_**Also, to the guest that was worried about what Prof Leopold might do to Regina, don't worry too much, I don't plan on having any trigger warnings for this story. I suppose there has already been some sexual assault, but it won't delve too much deeper (I promise) but either way he is icky, no way around that. **_

He is avoiding her. Alright, maybe not physically avoiding her. She doesn't think he could do that even if he tried, but definitely avoiding any topic of conversation pertaining to them personally.

They have been discussing ethical theories for the last hour, debating Socrates and Aristotle, Hedonism and Cynicysm, but anytime Regina tries to steer the conversation toward last night, toward the events that led to her squeezing her thighs together tightly, muffling her pleasure as they were interrupted, has Robin shifting, changing the subject.

"Human beings are not hedonistic in the manner you're positing Regina." He is talking again, ignoring her attempt at dislodging their conversation onto more pleasurable terms. It has her sighing, leaning back in her seat, and lifting her coffee cup to her mouth. "You can't claim that all of society can be categorized in Hedonism. What you are describing, ethics as maximizing pleasure and minimizing pain regardless of the expense to other people, and with no thought of the consequences is specifically Cyrenaic Hedonism." He is leaning forward, elbows resting on the table, his fingers tapping against the surface with each word he chooses to emphasize.

She disagrees, thinks the majority of people advocate for self-gratification with no regard for the pain, discomfort, or loss it may cost others, and he knows that, knows how she sees people, well, most people. Either way, she will not oblige him this time, will not let him draw her into another debate, not when she has spent the last hour trying to have an honest conversation with Robin, just Robin, not Professor Locksley.

She leans in close, clears her throat as she sets her beverage between them, and then she lifts her gaze from the table to his eyes, those piercing blue eyes that suddenly look nervous. "Robin," she whispers the name, tilts her head, and she knows it isn't fair, but she is giving him that look, that look that he can't seem to resist. The look that she learned long ago could manipulate many a man into saying or doing as she liked. He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair anxiously. "Please just talk to me Robin. I thought we were moving forward. After last night-"

"Last night shouldn't have happened." He interrupts, shifting in his seat, a pained expression on his face as he makes eye contact, stares into her. "I shouldn't have taken advantage of you Regina." He shakes his head, drops his gaze momentarily. "I shouldn't have let it go that far. I'm sorry."

She sighs, and his sad expression is certainly matched in her own features. She thought they were moving past this, thought he was beginning to understand that there is no reason they shouldn't be together physically. She is an excellent student. Her grades would never be a question, and he knows that, knows her, but some naive moral code has him drawing back, pulling away. It startles her to realize just how upset that makes her. This isn't just about their physical attraction, and it dawns on her that she has feelings for Robin, more than just the lust she's been failing to contain since the moment she laid eyes on the man.

"Alright." The word leaves her mouth without conscious realization, but she wants to ease his torment, wants his pained expression to calm, and she thinks she would probably give him just about anything to do so. It almost makes her laugh, at the very least scoff, because this is what he's been hammering into her mind for the last two weeks. People can be selfless, people can do things that benefit others even if they suffer themselves, and the thought of not pursuing Robin, not continuing as they have been, well, that agonizes her.

"Alright?" He is confused, taken aback, and the face he makes is so cute, so unbearably adorable, she almost takes it back, almost says no, almost insists they go to his office immediately so he can ravish her, but she doesn't.

She smiles, nods, explains that if that is what makes him comfortable then they can end any 'inappropriate' behavior they've been conducting. He smiles at her, a small thing, a grateful thing, but then his gaze switches to that adoring, longing look, and she can't handle it, breaks eye contact and clears her throat before establishing some ground rules. She tells him she won't give up their daily talks, refuses to lose his friendship as well, and that has him grasping at her hand, telling her that is the last thing he wants, and then they both seem to calm, relax.

They talk until her afternoon class, and it is difficult to find a new rhythm, nearly impossible not to flirt shamelessly like she always does, but she manages to rein it in, to control herself. Each time their conversation delves too personal, or what Robin must deem too personal, he shifts the tone, resets the balance, and they once again debate Hedonism.

She decides it won't be that bad, that his only objection is their student teacher relationship, and the term ends late March. Only two months to wait, two months, and with that realization her mouth goes dry, because two months of seeing Robin everyday and not acting on her feelings is akin to torture. Perhaps the man isn't as benevolent as she thought.

_**Don't worry. We already knows what happens after 3 weeks, and this is the start of their second week, so yeah, needless to say, neither of them have that much self-restraint. :) Loving your reviews! Thank you guys, and as always, let me know if their are any specific prompts for these two. Only a few more scenes to fill before their first time and I need to make them count. **_


	15. Platonic Jealousy

_**This piece is in response to a prompt from verkaiking on here or repellomuggletum15 on tumblr. Some jealous Robin getting these two back on track. **_

_**Also, some of you want more Roland, and there will be in the next piece, or at least that is what I'm planning ;) Thanks for the reviews, and to the guest that wanted longer chapters - I'm sorry, but most of the chapters will be short or shortish, around 1000 words. That allows me to update quickly, and in reality this started out as a series of short one-shots so I'm continuing with that. Some are longer, depending on what prompts or items I want to address, but otherwise they'll continue to be short. **_

_**Sorry. I hope you still enjoy them :D**_

He is angry, furious, uncontrollably frustrated. Not at her, never at her. No, this anger is directed toward the young man with his hand on her back, the young man talking animatedly while walking beside her.

He has no right to be upset, knows this feeling, this jealousy, is illogical. Just yesterday he was telling her he only wanted friendship, wanted to keep their relationship strictly platonic, and here he is, fuming, scowling, all because that man dares brush a lock of hair out of her face. He touched her hair.

He had asked her to meet him in his office after her classic literature lecture, asked if she would mind gathering Roland for him from daycare because Professor Leopold scheduled a late meeting with him today. She agreed, smiled and said she'd stop by his office for the keys to his car, assuring him she could manage the short drive to get the boy and bring him to the apartment.

She hasn't made it to his office though, not yet. She is lingering in the hall with this arrogant boy, this overly groomed ignoramus, and when she laughs, smiles that bright smile, he finally steps back from the doorway, turns and splays his palms against his desk. She is his student. It should be black and white, clear as day, but why does doing the right thing feel so wrong? Why does keeping his distance, restraining himself around Regina Mills, feel so unnatural, like he is a salmon swimming downstream, or a bird refusing to fly.

"Good Afternoon Professor Locksley." There is a smile in her voice, probably a smirk on her lips if he were to turn around and face her, but he doesn't, not just yet. He needs a moment to school his features, to let the blood drain from his face and the harshness swimming in his eyes to dissipate. He can hear her heels clacking, and her footwear always seem impractical to him, especially for a student, but he still loves it, loves the way those shoes accentuate her calves, her legs. She has lovely legs.

He shakes away the thought of her appendages, of the muscles flexing under flesh, of the way they would feel wrapped tightly around his waist, and then he is stretching, reaching across the desk until he can grasp his keys. When he turns she is standing right there, a curious smile on her face, brows slightly furrowed, and there is that strand of hair, the strand that was laying loosely now tucked tightly behind her ear, but not by her.

"Is something wrong?" He shifts his eyes from her hair back to the brown orbs staring back at him. Apparently he didn't school his features very well, didn't calm his expression enough to keep her from recognizing his dismay.

He clears his throat, forces a smile, and tells her everything is fine, hands her his keys and thanks her again for her help with Roland. He thinks he pulled it off, feels confident that he was convincing, but just as he is preparing to turn, to round his desk and prepare for a dull meeting, her nails dig into his chest, her hand fisting his shirt, preventing his escape. The action brings back memories, arousing memories, and he can feel his cock stiffening, a picture of her reaching climax with that hand doing the same thing flashing in his mind.

Then he is drawn back, pulled from those erotic images by her voice. "Robin we are not doing this. Yesterday you told me we could be friends, that if I stopped pursuing you intimately we could still have a friendship," her expression switches, angry scowl turning to a disheartened frown, "that we _would_ still have a friendship."

"We can Regina. We do. I'm not," he stutters, can't find the right words, and she deserves the right words, so he sighs, glances downward slightly, and tells her the truth, "It was hard seeing you with him." He lifts his hand, gestures toward the closed door that leads to the hall, and she turns, brows knitting together.

"John Locke? Robin he's dead." She says, confusion evident in her voice, her hand lifting to point at a portrait hanging on the wall behind her, and he laughs, chuckles, says to her no, not John Locke.

He lowers himself on the desk, sits on the edge, and it brings him down a couple inches, aligns their eyes, their mouths, and he tells her he is being childish, that seeing her with the boy in the hall made him jealous. He tells her that he understands, that she should move on, that she should be happy, and there is no reason for her to do otherwise. She is smiling at him, biting her lip, and something in her face looks predatorial.

"You didn't like seeing me with Sidney?" She questions, and he hates hearing her speak the man's name, wishes her lips would never wrap around the designation again, but he has no right. She is not his, can't be his and he can't be hers, but oh how he wants exactly that.

She grins wide, laughter erupting from her lips and the sound only has his frown deepening, his frustration growing, because isn't it good enough that he is jealous, that he is upset, does she have to receive joy from his suffering? He knows she wouldn't, knows her soul, but right now all he can see is that man touching her hair, skimming fingers across her cheek, and his grasp tightens on the edge of his desk, sharp wood digging painfully into his skin.

"It isn't funny, Regina." His words come out calm, stern, but calm, especially considering his inner turmoil, but once again she must see right through him, must have heard the slight shudder at the end of her name.

Whatever it was, whatever caused her to close the distance, to land her lips on his, he is grateful for it, because in that single moment he feels like he is home, like the world has finally shifted back into place, any semblance of jealousy withering to nothing. Not loving Regina Mills really is one of the most unnatural things he could try to do. Her mouth is insistent on his, lips parting, tongue darting until she coaxes his open.

That is when he loses any semblance of control, his hands lifting from the desk, resting on her hips, pulling her closer, and he didn't notice when her's had reached around his neck, forming a loop to keep him near, but he really isn't that concerned with her hands when her tongue is tracing circles in his mouth, her teeth nipping at his lips.

She pulls away, and he inches forward at first, doesn't let them part immediately, but when they do, when she looks at him with those brown eyes, pupils blown wide, she tells him that she is not moving on, that regardless of what he says she is not giving up on them. Then she smiles wide again and says something that has laughter bubbling up and out of him as well.

"Robin, Sidney is gay."

_**Okay, so they are back on track, and Robin is starting to realize how right he feels with her, now she just has to convince him that feeling right means it is right. :D Let me know what you think and if you have any prompts. The next piece will be Robin's pov, and it will be this same day in the evening so Wednesday night I think. **_


	16. Vehemence

**Here is an update guys. A little bit longer than the last couple. This is Wednesday night from Regina's POV. I was going to do Robin's, but changed my mind. This is mostly a filler chapter for the next one that fills another prompt, and gets these two on track for their 3 week interlude ;D**

**Anna (who prompted some family time) - I think this kind of fulfills your prompt for fluffy family time, and for Robin noticing how it affects Regina. There will be more fluffy family moments in the future though, and I'll be more elaborate with it then :)**

**Thanks again for all of your reviews, favs, and follows! They make me so happy, and I love hearing your ideas! Mwah.**

Spending time with Roland feels natural, instinctual, and she is starting to become addicted to this little boy's smile. Regina has been around very few children in her life. She was an only child, didn't have many friends, but that was always alright with her because she was busy. Too busy in hindsight.

Her mother had her enrolled in dance, ballet, voice and piano lessons. She was expected to do perfectly, always perfectly, and that left very little time for friendship. It makes her face contort in disgust now, the way she constantly tried to please, constantly performed, when there was no chance at ever satisfying her mother.

Even her father failed miserably at that task, but then again, he failed at most things. He failed at being a father, at protecting her, caring for her, and even though she knows he loves her in his own way, she doesn't think she can ever forgive his cowardice. She can't forgive either of them for forcing her to give up her child.

She wonders what her little boy would be like. Wonders even more now that she has been spending time with Roland. She wonders if her boy would have the same curls, or similar dark eyes, but then she thinks he probably would look more like Daniel, less like her. Somehow thinking that, thinking that her child doesn't share her traits makes it easier to accept that she'll never be able to see him grow, never be able to bake cookies with him like she is currently doing with Roland.

She'd picked the boy up after leaving Robin in his office, a confused Robin if she read him correctly. He is still fighting his feelings for her, not as much, something has shifted, but she could see the wariness in his face as she left him, as she dropped a chaste goodbye kiss to his lips. She, however, feels a new determination, a stronger resolve, and she will not give in again, will not let him draw back.

"Can I have another chip?" Roland's soft voice pulls her from her reverie, tugs a smile onto her lips, and he is standing with huge brown eyes and an outstretched hand in front of her. He wants another chocolate chip, but he's already had plenty, kept sneaking them while she was stirring them into the cookie dough, so she shakes her head, crouches down to his level and tells him that he has to wait so he can have a cookie when they are finished baking.

His eyes grow even bigger, and he starts bouncing on the kitchen floor excitedly. It makes her laugh, how young and carefree he seems, and she thinks not for the first time that Robin is a wonderful father, is definitely doing something right.

He walks in at that exact moment, enters the apartment at the same time he enters her thoughts, and when she looks up, meets his eyes as he walks through the door, she freezes, her breath leaving her, and all the times he has looked at her with longing eyes, she doesn't think he's ever looked at her like this.

It almost frightens her, the intensity of his gaze, but at the same time it makes her heart flutter in anticipation, with excitement, and suddenly she feels like Roland, feels like jumping up and down passionately. Roland runs to his father as she straightens her legs, stands straight. The boy explains that they are making cookies, that he should come help them, and it makes Regina laugh because all they have left to do is clean. Clearly a task Roland would gladly hand off to his father.

"Cookies? That's what smells so good then? Here I thought it was you!" He tickles Roland, has the boy giggling and wiggling until he nearly falls to the floor. The entire scene makes her long to be a child again, wishful that a parent would have ever shown her such affection, but then Robin's eyes are meeting hers again, and he walks over after asking Roland to go read while he helps clean up the kitchen.

He leans his hip against the counter, greets her with a smirk, and then she tells him about their evening, about baking cookies because Roland insisted that they bake cookies every Wednesday night. Robin laughs, says 'oh did he now' loud enough for the toddler to hear and cower into a pillow on the couch.

She knew it wasn't true, can read Roland as well as she can his father, but she wanted to do something with the boy, wanted them to have fun, and, well, she also wanted a cookie. They spend the rest of the evening cleaning and eating, chatting and laughing, and it all seems so domestic, so intuitive.

She watches them go through their nighttime routine, watches as Robin helps the boy ready himself for bed, brush his teeth, watches as they read a book, and it all makes her feel a little morose. It probably shouldn't. She should be happy to witness such a display of bonding between father and son, and part of her his, part of her feels blessed to stand on the periphery, but another part wishes she had the same, wishes she had her son, at the very least wonders what it would be like to be the one tucking her boy into bed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He walks toward her slowly, the door to Roland's room closing behind him, and his words make her scoff, roll her eyes, because Robin is not so mundane as to use a cliche to make small talk. She tells him her thoughts are worth far more than a penny, and he sits beside her, nods, and he tells her that yes, they are.

"You're thinking of your boy?" He grasps her hand, lacing their fingers together, and she isn't sure whether it is a question or not, but she answers.

"I just wonder sometimes." A sigh leaves her lips, and she leans further back on the couch. He makes her feel comfortable, makes her feel safe. She doesn't know how, but he pulls down all of her walls, all of her defenses.

His grip strengthens, fingers placing strong pressure against her skin. He nods, and then he seems to contemplate for a moment, nibbles at his lip, and for a second her thoughts go to their earlier kiss, to her teeth on that lip, but then he is talking, his lips moving.

"Does spending time with Roland make it harder Regina?" He asks earnestly, but their is a melancholy tone to his expression, a sadness in his eyes. "Because if you'd rather not see him-"

"No." She interrupts, shakes her head vehemently, and the frown lifts from his face, only concern remaining. "I love spending time with Roland. He just," she pauses, takes a breath, "he makes me contemplate things I shouldn't."

"I know the feeling." His words have her eyes meeting his, her brow furrowing in confusion, a silent question, and his eyes hold that intensity again, that look that burns and soothes her all at once. "You make me contemplate things I shouldn't." His free hand lifts, brushes against her cheek, and almost pushes a stray tress of hair behind her ear, but he stops, removes his hand and clears his throat.

"Robin." It is a declaration, a question, a reprimand all in one, and she won't do this, won't listen to him spout misguided notions of why they shouldn't be together. She tells him as much, tells him that he has no viable reason to ignore their chemistry, to deny their relationship.

He smiles, placates her, and he tells her she is right, tells her that he wants her, wants to be with her, but he wants them to wait, to postpone any physical intimacy until March, when the term ends and she will no longer be his student. He makes it seem reasonable, tells her it will be like an old fashioned courtship, but she shakes her head, repeats herself over and over, and tells him why there is no reason to wait.

They debate, disagree, and by the end of the night, by the time she is leaving his apartment the situation is not resolved. She kisses him goodbye, pushes him against the door of his apartment, and doesn't stop her assault on his lips until he is hard against her lower belly, until he is gripping insistently at her hips.

When she finally pulls back, smirks and lifts an eyebrow, he chastises her with a glare, a heated glare that can't hide the frustration he is trying to control. She leaves his apartment that evening with a renewed vigor, and she is certain, whatever it may take, she will break his resolve, will argue for her position until he is begging her to have him.

_**Alright, Regina is determined, and Robin is slowly cracking. Enjoy your weekend guys! And as always, let me know what you think or if you have any specific prompts. **_


	17. Perception

_**So much for shorter chapters. This one is a bit longer, but it needed to cover more, and convey Robin's feelings. This is Robin's POV on Saturday (we skipped Thurs and Fri, but he kind of fills you in, nothing important happened). Next will be Regina's POV on Monday morning, and then it is Monday night! Their three weeks are up! :D I hope I have properly conveyed their growing feelings for one another. **_

_**Some people wanted to know about Regina's son. I don't have any plans to explore that yet. It is Henry, but he is younger than Roland, only two. I might address that in the future, but it isn't involved in the main plan for this story. **_

He sees her everywhere, and he's starting to get confused, visions blurring between reality and fantasy. She isn't here today. It's his Saturday with Roland, an unseasonably warm day they are spending at the park, but whether she is physically present or not, he still sees her. A ghost, a phantom, and he thinks he hears her laugh, turns in time to see another woman. He thinks he recognizes the scent of her hair carried toward him on a breeze, but when he looks; it isn't her.

She's spent the last two days debating with him, arguing her case, her point, and he returns each word leaving her mouth with a validation of his own reasoning, but he is beginning to wonder, beginning to question whether he continues to do so because he believes himself right, or because debating Regina Mills comes so naturally to him.

They are opposites, yet the same, running parallel, then perpendicular, and he imagines it should be tiring, exhausting even, but it isn't. It is perfect, lovely. Still, at this very moment, as he questions Roland, asks if he's warm enough, bundles his jacket tighter around his neck before watching him run about the park, prancing and jumping and playing, he thinks perhaps he is only being obstinate with Regina because he likes to be.

He is certain he sees her on a bench, sitting there reading, dark hair curtaining her features, but just as he is about to walk over, just as he is smiling and about to call Roland over, she adjusts, pushes that hair back, and it isn't Regina. Oh how he wishes it was. He mentally scolds himself, berates his eyes for fooling him, and he really shouldn't be so desperate to see her, shouldn't long to touch her.

He's given them a timeline, a perfectly understandable timeline, and there should be no question, no difficulty. She is his student, he her teacher, and they should wait. Roland giggles, draws his attention, smiles wide, that wide smile he had baking with Regina, and Robin has to pull at his justifications, tug and analyze, because why should they wait again?

They get lunch at a little cafe near the apartment, nibble on sandwiches and drink hot cocoa, but then their is a familiar clicking of heels, a sound that has him searching, his gaze seeking, and he doesn't see her, again doesn't see her. He turns back to his son, sighing and combing fingers through his hair.

"Papa," His boy looks up with big brown eyes, and he smiles in return, tries to shake Regina from his mind, she has no place there, he has no right contemplating her. "Can we go play with Regina?" Apparently he isn't the only Locksley stuck on the woman.

Robin finds himself chuckling, wiping crumbs from his boy's chin. "Well Roland, perhaps we can see what she is doing this evening." He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he wants to, and Roland wants to, and who is he to withhold her presence from his boy? They are friends after all.

He calls her the minute Roland's head settles to his pillow for nap, the boy's soft snoring soothing his soul, and he thinks not for the first time how hard it must be for Regina, how she shouldn't have to wonder about her boy, how she should have had the opportunity to see him grow, to hear his voice, his laughter. A renewed anger, a heat coursing through his veins, has his fist clenching while he lifts the phone to his ear. She shouldn't have had to suffer that, certainly not at the hands of parents who should have been supportive, who should have loved her.

She greets him with a hello, and the sound has his entire body calming, relaxing, but then she adds Professor Locksley to the greeting, and his body thrums with anxious anticipation. How can just her voice affect him like this, bring him to distraction?

She arrives early, a bag of groceries tucked under her arm, and when he greets her, takes the bag from her hold, he tries not to notice the low dip of her shirt, the smell of apples and spice surrounding her, or the way the warmth of her body can be felt where his arms make contact with her sweater.

"What's this?" He questions, peeking into the bag as he sets it on the counter.

She stands right beside him, too close, so close, and her arm is firmly touching his, her hands reaching over to still his over the bag. She tells him she is making them dinner, that she hasn't had a proper kitchen available to her since she moved here, and that Roland and him will just have to endure her efforts.

He smiles, stares, and he knows his gaze is lingering, knows his eyes are betraying his feelings for this woman, feelings he can't quite name. He takes a step closer, or maybe he just sways, and really, they were already impossibly close, now there is no space between them. That lingering gaze drops to her lips, to the tongue peeking out to wet them, and he is doing the same. God she smells good.

Just one inch, he needs to move forward one inch, but he shouldn't, she is his student, they should wait, and why is that so hard to do? Well, it is less hard with a three year old boy in the next room, a little boy who has been asking about Regina all afternoon, and is currently bounding out of his bedroom, no trace of sleep left on his features as he shouts her name with glee.

She drops to her knee, Roland quickly taking advantage, wrapping her in a tight hug, saying her name again and again like just voicing it loud enough will verify that this isn't a dream. Robin finds himself desperately wishing he could do the same, wishing he could wrap his arms around her, embrace her, whisper her name rather than shout it, but then she is standing, lifting Roland to her hip, and the sight nearly has him gasping for breath. She is beautiful, Roland is beautiful, and together he can't pull his eyes away, wouldn't want to if he could.

"What do you think?" She questions, her face scrunching, nose turning up, and he is still chewing, and chewing, and he wonders if it is supposed to be this crunchy.

Roland speaks first, and he is a child, has an honest disposition, perhaps too honest. "This is icky." Robin, coughs, sputters, and he scolds the boy, tells him to be polite, but his heart isn't in it, not while Regina is grinning, nodding her head.

"It is awful isn't it?" She pushes the noodles around with her fork, stabs another small piece, contemplating, but it doesn't make it to her mouth.

Robin wipes his mouth, finally swallows the last bit of, well, he isn't sure what to call it, and then takes a sip of water. "It isn't awful." He assures, and it's true, it is edible, he has had worse food, even made worse himself. "But maybe you should stick to cookies."

She laughs, and oh how he loves that sound. There is a richness to her laugh, to her voice, to everything about her, and he wants to melt into her, feel every inch of her. He shakes the thought away, adjusts his hardening length, while realizing that having Regina over was a decidedly bad idea if he wants to clear his mind of these images haunting him.

"You should try my apple pie." She states, smirking, before claiming that she can make anything with apples taste fabulous. He doesn't doubt that, grins and tells her he'd like to some day, and this all feels an awful lot like flirting. Her gaze is locked with his, her pupils dilating, and he thinks her thoughts may be traveling the same path as his, she may be facing the same images he's been drowning in all day.

Roland's squeal as he spills his glass of milk is like a bucket of cold water, a tether back to reality. "Oops!" The three year old states, wide brown eyes shifting from Robin to Regina, back and forth, and then they are laughing, cleaning the table, and discussing alternate options for their evening meal.

They end up dining on Asian food, rice covered with chicken and vegetables, egg rolls and rangoons, and by the time Robin has Roland tucked in for the night, his story read, the boy asks that Regina come to kiss him goodnight. His son's request tugs at his heart, his very soul, and when he watches Regina kneel beside the bed, watches as she smiles and whispers before kissing the boy, he thinks his entire body may overflow with emotion.

He gives them some privacy, steps back into the living room and waits. The beautiful moment seared on his brain, replaying in his mind, and then she steps from the room, a watery smile directed toward him. He closes the distance between them more rapidly than he thought possible, lifts a hand to her jaw while the other arm loops around her waist, pulling her close.

He kisses her, and kisses her, and he is fairly certain that this is the first time he's ever kissed her with such abandon, but still, something holds him back, apprehension has him withdrawing his lips, resting his forehead against hers. Her nose circles his, traces along his face, and his heart stutters when she drops the softest of kisses to his nose. He can't get enough of this woman, will never get enough of her.

"I'm sorry." It is a whisper from his mouth, a breath against her cheek. "I still want us to wait Regina. I just," he pauses, allows her to pull back, a look of exasperation on her face, "I lost control. I'm sorry."

"Robin," she is about to argue her view, he can tell, so he moves a finger to her lips, pauses her words.

"Can we talk about something else tonight?" He knows it will only be a temporary reprieve, that she will not drop the topic of their relationship so easily, but at the moment she acquiesces, nods, and once again he wonders if she realizes how remarkable she is, how divine. He knows she doesn't, and that makes him even more determined to help her see.

_**I hope you enjoyed! Let me know any thoughts, and just a heads up, not the next piece, but the two after that will be smutty...I mean, really smutty, so be prepared because there probably won't be much plot in those :D Now I'm going to go read You Jump, I Jump by Verkaiking (if you haven't checked it out yet - you should!) Bye.**_


	18. Misguided Altruism

_**Guess what! They've known each other 3 weeks! This is Monday morning of the third week, Regina's POV. Next will be two very m-rated chapters covering Monday night so be warned. Be patient because I might write both of those and publish them at the same time, plus I plan on having a few people take a look at them before posting which may take longer. Enjoy!**_

_**To the guest reviewer wondering about ages; Robin is about 24 going on 25, he only has a master's degree, and was hired on to teach immediately after finishing it. Regina is in his first year ethics class, but this is her second semester and King's putting her in the range of 19. (Not really a huge age gap, and nothing illegal)**_

She's angry, furious, a warm heat gathering in her veins, spiraling through her body. This man drives her insane, carries her to the brink of madness, yet simultaneously offers tranquility, solace. The dichotomy only riles her temper more, builds her frustration because who is he to have such influence on her emotions?

"Miss Mills. I am not saying that all people are altruistic." He is patronizing her. That is how she perceives it anyway, and he is spouting the same idealistic nonsense, but not listening, not grasping her argument. "I am simply saying that ethically we should strive to be thus. To quote Auguste Comte, 'we should live for the sake of others'."

He is frustrated too, irritated, and she can see it in the flushed skin at his neck, hear it in the strain of his voice while he speaks. She imagines the glare of her eyes, and the vein throbbing in her forehead signal the same to him, her vexation on clear display. "You claim that people should be altruistic, that they can be, but I don't see it. Humans are inherently selfish and self-serving. They are hedonistic by nature."

He shakes his head, releases an aggravated sigh, and her eyes are narrowing in response, her mind already preparing an argument to what he has yet to voice. "People are capable of both Regina." He pauses, jaw dropping open while his gaze swiftly surveys the lecture hall, then settles back on her, an angry calm burning in those blue eyes. "Miss Mills, I personally have witnessed altruism in our society, sometimes from people whom I would least expect. I have witnessed the worst and the best of human nature, and I know we can choose to act ethically, for the sake of others," he takes a breath, blue eyes imploring, "but we have to make that choice."

Her brow furrows, and she wonders if he sees what is right in front of him, what he has been doing all along while trying to follow this naive moral code. "Do you do that Professor?" She leans forward, the deep v of her neckline dropping further, but his eyes don't leave hers. "Can you say that you act altruistically? That you live for the sake of others?"

He sighs, a dimpled smirk pulling at his lips. "I try. I try to do what is best for the majority of people around me, even if it means it may not be what I want." His expression is begging her to understand, to comprehend, but she doesn't.

"And if your actions, if they don't affect others, if when you truly look you see no positive or negative impact on the majority, what then?" Her brows furrow, and she grips her pen tighter, clenches it in a fist because she can't believe he does not see what he is doing. "Maybe your choice only affects one person, maybe two, and what if it impacts them negatively?" She tilts her head, swallows. "How is that altruistic?"

The beep signaling the end of the hour sounds, and for a moment no one moves, not an inch, and there is silence as their eyes remain locked. Then he is looking away, her gaze is dropping, and he is dismissing students with the reminder that there will be no class tomorrow due to faculty meetings. She is the last to stand, hesitantly moving from her desk toward him, his muscular back facing her. He is shuffling papers, essays, and she knows he is overwhelmed, knows he has a lot of grading to do this evening. A fact which has had him on edge, knowing he wouldn't be able to spend the evening with Roland.

He turns, and the look on his face is stern, commanding. "My office." It isn't a request, more of an order, and he doesn't give her the opportunity to voice her objection, simply turns and walks toward the doors.

She sighs, follows him, and it feels so atypical, awkward and strange. She hates fighting him, and that seems peculiar because she loves debating him, enjoys his passionate pleas for his case, but this, this is just painful. If the anguish knit in his brow is anything to go by, it is painful for both of them.

He walks straight to his desk, rounds it, but doesn't drop into the chair. He just stands there, shoulders rigid, tense, and she thinks she might have to stop this, might have to give it up, to acquiesce and wait out his barbaric timeline. She doesn't like seeing him like this, hates knowing that she is the cause.

"Regina." His voice is a whisper, a prayer, and the sound has her sighing, rolling her eyes, because she doesn't understand why she can't convince him. "We have to stop this."

Of course they do, they really do. He'd slipped and called her Regina in class today, not to mention their very specific debate. Personally, she finds most of the other students daft and callow, doesn't believe they would pick up on the subtle clues of a relationship even if Robin and her fornicated in front of them, but some might.

"Don't you see Robin?" She steps forward, her thighs meeting the opposite side of his desk, and it feels like a metaphor, a huge wedge between them, just wide enough to keep him out of reach. "Your choice to postpone our relationship has no impact on anyone, but you and me." She shakes her head, her expression beseeching. "And the affect it has on us, well," she scoffs, looks down, "it isn't for the better."

His brow furrows, eyes contemplating, finally gleaming with some realization, or maybe that is just her wishful thinking. She takes a step back, retreats, and just as her fingers brush the door handle, a second before she opens it to depart, she turns back to him a small smile tugging the corner of her mouth. "It's actually quite comical." She breathes out a laugh, meets his eyes. "I'm quite the cliche; A student falling for her professor." She turns her head, can still see him in her periphery as she sighs. "It's really sort of pathetic."

She is only partially talking to him, another part of her speaking from and to herself, repeating the words that play in her mind, her mother's voice dancing and twirling through her brain, tugging at her self-doubt. His voice pulls her from her thoughts, has her gaze finding him again, searching. "What does that say about me?"

She releases a questioning murmur, not sure what he's asking. His eyes are so blue in this moment, so vibrant, and it distracts her until he begins uttering his reply. "How cliche is a professor falling in love with his student?"

Her mouth goes dry, and she gulps, eyelids closing and opening slowly, but she doesn't have a second to respond before he blinks his eyes, runs a hand through his hair and mutters something about grading essays, how he'll probably be stuck here until midnight. He asks if they can talk about this more tomorrow after the faculty meetings. She nods, steps through the door closing it behind her, and her mind refuses to focus on anything other than his words as she traverses the hall. Those final words echoing in her mind like a revelation.


	19. Beautiful Imperfections

_**Thank you all for being patient for this one :) A big old thanks to oqfaves over on tumblr for proofing this for me and saving you all from so many needless commas! Be grateful to her! Now enjoy. I'll be posting Regina's POV next but separate because my smut gets wordy...I mean, this is long for these chapters guys!**_

She is a vision, a mirage to a thirsty man and it only takes one look, one glance at her stalking closer for his blood to pump faster, for his heart to start beating ferociously. He is already hard by the time she reaches the desk, as she slides onto it in that red dress. Red hugging her curves, caressing the lines of her body.

He stands, steps between her parted thighs, nestles himself there, and she kisses him, pulls him to her, lips devouring, nipping. At some point his mouth moves down, skirts across her cheek, down to her neck, and she tastes like apples, tastes how she always smells.

He shakes his head, blinks his eyes and mentally scolds himself for losing focus. Regina is not here. No, he is sitting, sitting at his desk, glasses straining his eyes while he scribbles edits and comments onto essay after essay. He sighs, drops his pen to the desk and pushes aside the paper he'd been grading, or trying to grade.

Ever since she left him this afternoon he has not been able to think about anything else. Her argument is a sound one, all this time he has been trying to do what's right, what's ethical, but all he has been doing is harming her. He thinks of each time he's withdrawn, each time he'd apologized for demonstrating his feelings and self-loathing fizzles in his veins, courses through his body. How could he be so stupid? How could he not consider the impact on her?

She is right. He has not been altruistic at all, quite the opposite in fact. No one is affected by their relationship, at least no one but the two of them. She is an excellent student. There has never been a question, never could be. She is meticulous, studious, intelligent, and although he doesn't always agree with her conclusions, he could never fault her reasoning or refute her intellectual knowledge of the subjects she discusses or studies.

His apprehension and repeated refusals have only impacted one person. Well, two people; Regina and himself and neither of them for the better. He shakes his head, removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose while squeezing his eyelids shut. He feels like a colossal idiot. Granted, the academic board would most likely find fault in their relationship were anyone to find out, and Robin is loathe to keep Regina a secret, especially now, especially since he's realized his feelings for her.

He hears a sound, a click. The building is so quiet this time of night that the small noise echoes in his office and draws his gaze to the door that has just closed. Regina stands there, a black trench coat wrapped tightly around her body, cinched at the waist by a belt, and he knows she is real this time, knows she is not a fantasy because instead of ravishing her body with his mouth, he is worrying.

The campus is relatively safe. The college prides itself on the precautions taken to be certain students can traverse the grounds safely but still, there are reports, not frequent but they do occur. Reports of assault, sexual assault and they almost always take place late in the evening when the grounds are covered in a cloak of darkness.

As breathtaking as she is, as welcome as she will always be, he hates the thought that she walked across campus to get here, walked to his office at nearly midnight, alone. He shudders at the thought, thoughts that plague his mind, shakes them off because she is here, clearly safe and what could have happened does not matter at the moment.

Still, he can't let it go, refuses to greet her without telling her exactly why she shouldn't be here at this late hour, how she'd put herself at risk. "Regina-" That's all he gets out, all his lips allow to pass before they are numb, dropping open dumbly.

He can't remember what he'd been about to say, can't remember anything passed this instant, anything other than Regina standing before him in nothing but black lace and heels as her coat drops to the floor. Then he is standing, walking, practically running around his desk, but just as he rounds it, she is no longer standing at the door. She is right in front of him, skin beneath his hands, calloused fingers taking purchase of every smooth inch or exposed flesh.

He kisses her, lowers his mouth to hers and finally meets her lips like he has wanted to since they met, with no hesitation, no apprehension. One hand wraps around her waist, fingers settling on the lace of her panties as they curve over her rear, his thumb coasting across the heated flesh of her lower back. He smiles into their kiss, grins because she has an indentation back there just under his thumb, no doubt matched on the other side. Dimples of Venus and the name is fitting, the Roman goddess of beauty. He finds himself intoxicated with the prospect of mapping out her entire body, laying worship upon her, upon all of her.

He gasps when he feels her bare hands on her chest He hadn't even realized she'd been working at the buttons, hadn't grasped the fact that she'd opened the striped button down until her cool hands began skimming his warm chest. Their lips meet again, over and over, parting for the occasional breath or moan or gasp, until his mouth and tongue begin peppering her chin with kisses, tracing the line of her jaw, the column of her throat and she does smell like apples, but more than that, she tastes bitter, like she just applied the perfume. It is real, her and better than any invention of his mind.

His other hand combs into her hair and oh how he has wanted to do this, has held back every time for fear of losing control. Apparently he was right because he feels frenzied with desire for this woman, passion clouding all of his faculties. He hadn't realized they were moving, hadn't picked up on the soft steps their feet had taken but now he is against his desk, the edge digging into the back of his thighs and suddenly this doesn't seem right.

Regina deserves more than a romp at midnight in his dreary office. He loves this place, finds comfort and contentment here but she deserves a bed, a comfortable pillow and warm blankets surrounding every line of her figure. He starts to draw back, begins to slow the kiss but she shifts forward, circles her arms around his neck halting his withdraw while she grinds her hips against his length, stiff and solid between them.

He imagines she thinks he is changing his mind, vacillating like he has previously but that isn't the case, not this time. He will relent, will spend the rest of the night charting each angle of her body with his mouth and his tongue but he wants to do that somewhere else, wants to make her comfortable. He is about to tell her as much, whispers her name with that intention but she places a finger against his lips, steps back slowly and he feels her shiver, wonders if she is cold or if he elicited the reaction.

"Robin," her voice is stern, strong, and delightfully raspy. She has stepped far enough away that his eyes can hungrily take her in, the sight of her body nearly bare causing his erection to twitch in anticipation, and god how he wants to bury himself in her, to get lost in her, to stay there for days. "You are not the one taking advantage of me."

With that her hands disappear behind her back, meeting at her spine, loosening the clasp of her bra. He sees the cups fall away, his mouth going dry as the thin straps coast down her arms, the garment dropping to the floor leaving him panting at the view of her breasts, her nipples taut at the peaks.

She mutters something more about taking advantage but the meaning of her words escape him, he feels dizzy, can't catch his breath. Surely all of his blood flow has been directed from his brain to his cock because he is straining against the material of his pants, begging to be let loose. He leans back to the desk, braces himself, gulps and closes his eyes to calm his racing heart. He can't look at her, can't gaze upon her body until he regains control of his ability to move.

Then he does, he opens his eyes and she must be able to see her affect because she smiles, no, smirks and stalks toward him, eyes black as night never leaving his. "Professor?" She questions and the title has him anxious and aroused all at once until he is distracted by a perfectly manicured finger tracing circles against his bare chest. "I'm quite willing to learn," pushing the shirt across his shoulders, down his arms until it puddles behind him on the desk, her eyes peeking out beneath dark lashes, brow lifting, "if only you'd teach me."

Well, that does it. That spurs him into action and he figures if she wants to have sex in his office that is exactly what she'll get. He lets his shirt fall completely from his wrists as he shifts forward, lets it fall from his desk to the floor and then his torso meets hers, no space remaining. Her hands take up residence on his back, his shoulders, then skirting above his belt while his arms wrap tightly around her waist, one hand sliding beneath black lace to grip her ass, to pull her impossibly closer, the other bending at the elbow to reach the hair flowing along the base of her neck.

Her hair is just as soft as he expected, as he'd dreamed and he knew as much, knew it was soft but the feel of it between his fingers is more arousing than he would have imagined. He spins them and he is so grateful for the bit of housekeeping he'd done earlier because normally his desk would be covered in books, cluttered but now there are only essays and a pen, one book at the corner only taking up a small bit of space. He thinks it might be cliché but as they voiced earlier, this whole thing is rather cliché, so he leans forwards, draws his hands away from her skin and pushes the papers from his desk.

They flutter in the air, thwack against the floor and she laughs, throws her head back and he takes advantage of that, lands his lips right there, tasting her again. She moans, a deep throaty sound that has him sucking harder, circling his tongue against her skin. He brings his hands to her hips, then lower and lower, until he can grip her thighs and hoist her upward onto his desk.

Her legs part immediately, wrap around him and he is kissing her mouth again, her lips opening wide around his, tongues tangling. He can feel her fingers at his buckle, feels his pants loosening but he stops her, halts her movements with a hand resting on hers. They part and she looks up to him with a questioning gaze. He can see worry etched in her brow, discontent and he wonders if she thinks he is stopping this again. He wouldn't blame her, he has been rather mercurial but if she truly believes he could have her in this position and stop himself, she is mistaken.

He smiles, bites his lip. "Let me show you how altruistic I can be." His fingers slip beneath the waist of her panties, stilling there, silently asking for permission and then she is swallowing, nodding and holding her weight up enough for him to remove the material, pulling it down her legs as he lowers himself to his knees.

She is looking at him, a mixture of fear and excitement in her expression and he knows she hasn't had many partners but she wanted him to teach and teach her he will. He wants to teach her how good she can feel, teach her to respond to her body, not to hold back, not to feel apprehensive or nervous, not with him, never with him.

He kisses his way up her inner thigh, starts with a peck at the inside of her knee, glides his tongue halfway to where she is wet and waiting. He kisses again, skims his lips against her leg until he has to pull her forward, bring her to the edge of the desk and his mouth is on her, his tongue licking at her entrance, her thighs draped over his shoulders.

She is wetter than he'd expected and that has him releasing a moan, eyes dropping shut because oh how he wants to be inside of her. He starts with a slow pace, glancing up as often as possible, reading her face and watching it contort with pleasure. Her eyes are pinched shut, mouth hanging open and she is more beautiful than he has ever seen her. Her stomach is clenching, muscles rippling and she gasps as his tongue flicks over her clit.

Her eyes open then, brown locking with blue and her hand lifts to tangle in his hair. He pulls back, moves a hand from her thigh, to her abdomen as he tells her to lean back, to relax. She slowly obeys, falls back, her hand leaving his head to coast up her stomach, eventually reaching a pebbled nipple and twirling it between her fingers.

He thinks he could come just watching her like this and that thought sends far too many scenarios through his mind. He brings himself back to the task at hand,and he wants to give her pleasure, wants to give as much as he can, wants to have her writhing and coming over and over.

His tongue circles her clit then flicks, teases and works her up and up. He watches her for cues, her breathing, listens to her sounds and when she is moaning impatiently, massaging her breast fervently, twisting at her nipple, that's when he inserts a finger. He has to stop, pauses while he moans, "God you feel amazing."

He thinks he hears her breathe out a laugh but then any noise is drowned out by her moans and gasps as he enthusiastically laps at her clit, sucks and licks, two fingers entering her, stretching her. He pivots his hand, back and forth, in and out, curls his fingers just so, until she is arching off the desk, moaning 'oh yes', and 'Robin don't stop' and he doesn't.

Her hand drops from her breast, both grabbing at the edge of the desk, gripping, knuckles turning white and then she is stuttering his name, releasing a stifled cry of release. He can feel her clenching, tightening and releasing, muscles squeezing his fingers.

Her hips twitch, turn and he lessens his attentions, pulls his mouth away, leaving only his fingers to dance inside of her, to feel her throbbing around them. He stands slowly, lets her legs drop to the front of the desk and when he notices that her heels remain snugly on her feet he can't help but find it incredibly sexy. All of her is incredibly sexy.

He drops one last kiss below her navel before rising completely, gazing down at her and god is she stunning. Her breathing has slowed, her head turned to the side, her hands relaxed against the desk. He just stands there, observes, memorizes every facet of her, of Regina Mills. She has a freckle on her side, above her rib cage and a few small scars on her hips. It takes him a minute to realize they aren't scars, that they are stretch marks, remnants of her pregnancy no doubt and he traces them with his finger.

"I hate those," she says, their eyes meet and he watches as she swallows thickly, lifting herself to a sitting position.

"You shouldn't." His hand lifts to brush a lock of hair from her face and she tilts her head back, a content grin pulling at her lips. He threads his fingers into her hair again, rests his wrist above her shoulder. "Everything about you is beautiful Regina." His eyes drop to her upper lip, to the scar that resides there, the scar she'd told him her mother gave her and he kisses it, sucks it into his mouth, nurtures it.

Her hands are eagerly pushing at his pants again and they drop to his ankles before he settles his forehead to hers, murmurs that he doesn't have any protection, hates himself for not being more prepared but really, it isn't like he has been active. He hasn't been with anyone since Marian and he's been fighting this thing with Regina for so long he had never been inclined to procure a condom.

She pulls back and he looks into her eyes and smiles. He is about to tell her they should wait but then she is pushing at his boxers, sliding them down his hips until they pool along with his pants.

"I trust you, Robin." Her gaze drops from his, veers downward, taking him in and then she bites her lip before telling him she is on the pill, that pregnancy isn't a concern and that 'if he is okay with it?' He breathes out a laugh because really, she is worried he wouldn't be okay with it.

"I trust you too, Regina." He pulls her forward, drops his mouth to hers, his tongue skimming her lips until she opens, inviting him in. Her hand grasps his length, giving him a gentle tug from base to tip and it has him pausing the kiss, mumbling 'are you certain' against her mouth.

She nods, strokes him again, then again and he is slick from her, from standing between her legs, his erection pressed up against her wet core. He moans, tilts his head back briefly before kissing her again, moving across her jaw, exploring her skin with his lips, licking at the hollow between her neck and shoulder.

"I want you, Robin. I want to feel you." She whimpers the words and he tilts her body backward, waits for her to lay flatly against the desk again, then adjusts until the tip of his erection is lined up with her entrance. She is looking downward at him, watching his face and she nods, silently giving her permission.

He thinks he would probably give her anything, offer her everything to make her happy and he has spent the last three weeks making her miserable, drawing away from her, so he can't completely help himself when he thrusts forward. He tries to move slowly, to slide in gently and he thinks he manages it for the most part but she is tight and warm around him, clutching his length.

She moans, eyes squeezing shut, face contorting and he is in her completely, to the hilt but he pauses, doesn't move an inch, just waits and breathes, breaths so fast while he watches her. Her breaths are just as rapid and one of his hands moves upward from her hip, gliding across her ribcage to rest at the valley between her breasts, palm against her sternum. He can feel her heart pounding and it almost matches the throbbing he can feel on his cock, her muscles spasming and adjusting to the invasion.

Her eyes open, those deep chocolate eyes and he thinks if he wasn't already falling in love with her, he certainly would be in this moment, with those expressive eyes staring up at him.

"Are you alright?" He questions and her hand moves to cover his, delicate fingers folding around his own.

She brings his hand to her mouth, kisses his knuckle, her tongue peeking out, paints a circle on his skin. She nods then, whispers a yes and he starts moving in earnest, pulls back just a little and pivots back in. His movements are languid, slow and as he picks up pace, thrusts a little faster, a little harder. She releases his hand, grasps at the edge of the desk for stability.

He can feel her tightening, feel more slickness gathering where he pumps into her and he brings the hand she released to her breast, twirls her nipple between thumb and forefinger until she is arching into his hand. The other hand that had been securely fastened to her hip shifts over and downward, his thumb dipping into the wetness between them and rubbing gently at her clit.

She gasps at that, tells him 'yes', 'oh god you feel so good' and her words have him biting his lip, nearly coming at the sound of her voice but he wants to get her there, wants her to reach another peak. He is determined to hold back even if it kills him, determined to give her as much pleasure as she'll take, to have her soaking it up like a sponge. She is writhing, twisting in front of him and he pulls the hand from her breast, her own quickly replacing his. He uses his free hand to lift her leg, nestles her knee into the crook of his arm and the shift of position tweaks his angle, has her arching from the desk again.

Regina is not quiet. Something that spurs him on, has him pounding into her harder, flicking his thumb across her soaked clit faster and then he can feel her tightening. He watches as her eyes pinch closed, her abdomen flexes and then she is talking, lips moving. "Robin, I'm going to, I'm going-". He thinks how beautiful she is, feels her squeezing along his length, her hips bucking up off the desk out of rhythm.

He grips at her, grasp at her hips, tethers her and she is coming around him, sounds of ecstasy falling from her mouth. He pumps once, twice more and he is joining her, grunting out her name as he spills himself inside of her. Once he comes down from his high, when he can finally focus on the woman beneath him, his face nestled into her neck, he thinks he could stay like this indefinitely, remain surrounded by her, spend eternity with Regina Mills.

_**Hope that lived up to expectations! :D**_


	20. Afterglow

_**Alright. This is Regina's POV Tuesday early morning and it fills a prompt for 'the morning after'. You aren't getting Regina's direct POV for Monday because I thought it would be too redundant. Next will be Robin's POV and you should get some fluffy family feels with a twist at the end to lead up to another prompt filler. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think. I can take it :)**_

She stretches, yawns, let's the heaviness of sleep lift as she shifts and twists in the warm sheets tangling with her limbs. It takes a moment for her to realize, to recognize the feel of a body beside her, and then her eyes are opening, her lips lifting at the corners. It must be early, very early. The sun has yet to rise, only moonlight and the warm glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains, and Robin is dead to the world, his breaths deep and steady. The sight makes her smile, almost makes her laugh, and she can hardly believe that they are finally here.

Last night seems surreal, like a hazy dream, but it clearly happened, the evidence lying beside her; she actually went to his office dressed in nothing but black lace lingerie and her long trench coat. The thought makes her smile, shake her head and bite her lip. She'd been bold, resolute and daring after he'd uttered those words, after he'd declared himself 'falling in love' with her. If she is completely honest, she was terrified. Terrified that he would turn her away, terrified that she would leave his office feeling shaky and foolish, but then he looked at her, his heated gaze traveling the expanse of her exposed skin and she knew she wouldn't be leaving there feeling anything but satisfied.

She was right. They'd left together in fact, left for his apartment after hastily dressing and gathering essays from the floor for Robin to grade later, much later. He is handsome even in his sleep, and she finds herself staring at him, memorizing each line and curve of his face. It seems like she is engaging in a furtive indulgence, examining an image of him dreaming, his mind in a different place but his body next to her. He looks younger, more relaxed, the fine lines on his face less distinct, and she can't resist the urge to touch, can't prevent her hand from lifting to his face, his stubbled cheek.

His skin is warm, everything is warm and cozy, and she nestles herself closer to him, lets her nose and mouth land on the flesh where his shoulder meets his neck, their chests pressing against one another. He's supporting her neck with a muscular arm wedged beneath her, and she wonders if it is uncomfortable, imagines he probably has no sensation in the limb after spending the night in that awkward angle.

She kisses his neck, just a light peck, chaste and innocent, but the action has him shifting, moving to his back and pulling her along for the ride, looping an arm around her waist while the other (apparently he can feel it) lifts to embrace her neck and shoulders, a hand fisting in her hair.

"Good morning," he mumbles through a sleepy smile – no a smirk, his signature dimpled smirk – and just the expression has wetness pooling between her thighs, her nipples pebbling in response. Well, his expression is part of it, that and the fact that she can feel him warm and solid against her belly.

"Good morning." She braces herself against his chest, rests her chin on top of her joined hands, elbows splayed toward his shoulders and for a moment she just lays there, takes in the feel of his skin against hers, his fingers weaving through her hair, but then a shadow clouds her mind, self doubt floating to the surface. She clears her throat, takes a deep breath before asking, "Do you regret last night?"

She is surprised to see the look of shock on his face, and the last remnants of sleep that had been keeping his eyes heavy and his voice raspy lift, evaporate into the warm air. His hands stop moving, his head lifting to meet her gaze. "Regina, no. No." His grip tightens around her waist, the pads of his fingers pressing into her hip while he shakes his head fervently. "I don't regret a single moment I've spent with you, let alone last night." His hand moves from her hair, creeps forward to her face, caressing her cheek.

"I," her brow furrows, and she can feel her face contorting, her nose scrunching, "I know you had wanted to wait." She feels guilty this morning, now that the fog of passion caused by his words the previous day has lifted, the elation at his feelings for her, now she is wondering if it was the right thing to do, to force his hand.

"Regina," he says her name like a prayer, a desperate plea, and she thinks she'll never tire of hearing it leave his lips, "before you came to my office I'd already come to the conclusion that my actions served no other purpose than hurting both of us." He is staring at her earnestly, no trace of deceit in his eyes, and she is surprised, tilts her head and asks what changed his mind. After weeks of debating what finally convinced him to take that step forward?

He tells her he'd recognized how skewed his morality had been, how he'd been trying to be selfless, to follow his code, but in the end he realized their relationship would not cause anyone harm, that he was being selfish, that he was hurting her. "Still," he tells her, concern knitting his brows, "the academic board would frown upon a student teacher relationship. They'd deem it inappropriate."

He looks worried then, nervous even, and that is something she has so seldom witnessed from her confident professor. The slight grimace accompanying his words has her on edge, her own nerves firing anxiously. "If you have no objection," he sighs, lets his fingers comb back into her hair, his palm warming her cheek while the arm wrapped around her waist tightens like he is afraid she'll recoil at any moment, "it may be best to keep our relationship between us."

Oh. That was all. She sighs, takes comfort in the fact that he isn't changing his mind, isn't disengaging again. Honestly, she finds his statement laughable. She hadn't expected to shout from the treetops that she is sleeping with her professor, yet the worry coloring Robin's expression tells her he had, or at least had thought she would want to. She reassures him, tells him she'd expected as much, that she doesn't mind keeping them a secret until she is no longer his student. He grins, releases a breath of relief, and then he is bringing his head forward, tugging at her until they can just reach one another, until their lips meet.

It is an awkward angle, mostly his lower lip and her upper pressing firmly while her neck stretches uncomfortably and neither of them have the freshest breath; something she finds she is less insecure about with him, but still, she wants to kiss him, wants to be kissed, properly. She swiftly moves her hands to the mattress on either side of his chest, braces her weight on her arms and moves her body until she can straddle him. His hand drops from her hair, slides down her arm until it comes to rest on a thigh snug against his waist, the other hand still lingering at her hip.

The change of position has the sheets falling from her body, and it is dark in the room, but there is enough light to make out the way he scans her body, how his eyes search and explore. He bites his lower lip, squeezes her hip, the pads of his fingers gently digging into the curve of her ass, and the way he looks at her makes her feel powerful, beautiful, like she is worthy of such adoration. She leans forward and kisses him, a press of lip against lip, his mouth parting so his tongue can taste her, and she opens to him, delights in the stale breath they both share because it makes this all more real, less like one of her dreams. She finds it reassuring, comforting even.

His hard length is beneath her, firm and solid against where she is slick and sensitive. She draws back, sits up and pivots her hips, her hands taking purchase of his abdomen as she slides forward and backward along his shaft. The pleasure is exquisite. The ridges and contours of his cock gliding past her clit. She continues the motion, forward then backward, again and again and at some point his eyes close, squeeze shut. She lets hers do the same as her head falls back, mouth dropping open with a sigh. He feels so good.

Moans and gasps start escaping both of them, tumbling from gaping mouths, mingling in the warm air. She's getting close. Just sliding across him has a lovely tension building and coiling, her body preparing for release, but then he stops her motion, halts her with both hands grasping her hips tightly, and she tilts her head forward as a questioning whine slips passed her lips. When her eyes meet his, he looks like he must be as close as her, on the brink of orgasm. It's then that she understands the need for his interruption, and she lets a smug smile pull at her lips, revels in the affect she has on this man.

One of his hands smoothes up along her rib cage, thumb and forefingers meeting beneath and framing her breast. His thumb coasts along her curves, skitters across her hardened nipple and another moan leaves her mouth at the sensation, followed by a melody of noises when he grasps the peak between thumb and forefinger. "You are stunning, Regina."

She swallows thickly, absorbs the feel of his hands on her flesh, his body between her thighs, and something about how he sees her, how he makes her feel revered has her lifting, her thighs flexing until she can grip his erection, maneuver the tip to her entrance and sink down onto him. The action has his hand gripping her thigh, the other pinching a little too firmly at her nipple, a whispered hiss escaping her mouth.

"Too much?" He releases the pressure immediately, soothingly gliding his thumb over the hardened peak. She nods, tells him 'a little', and then she is moving, lifting herself up and down on his length. It feels fabulous, each time she completely lowers herself onto him, a delightful stretching and filling sensation, and she picks up the pace with urgency when his hands start guiding her faster, harder.

She watches him as she rides, eyes taking in the rippling muscles beneath her hands, the straining tension in his face, and she can tell he won't last much longer, can feel him getting stiffer, thrusting up from the bed, meeting her every movement. Her hand slips between them, fingers dipping into the gathered moisture, then gliding and flicking across her clit. She is on the edge, her muscles tightening around his cock, but then his hand is around her wrist, his fingers gently sliding down until they replace hers. He wants to make her come, he wants to be the one circling her clit until her body pulses with pleasure and that realization has her nearing the precipice faster, has her whispering his name, her heart beating frantically, breaths leaving her mouth rapidly.

It's when he thrusts upward just as she lowers herself down, and he hits that lovely spot inside of her spiraling pleasure through her nerves, his fingers rubbing her clit until her muscles clench and pulse; that's when she loses any control. She groans his name, throws her head back and succumbs to the pleasure spreading from her core. Her hips buck out of rhythm, but he holds her steady, his hand moving from where they meet to her waist. He continues thrusting upwards. Each time causing a delightful pressure within her until she is hunched, trying to catch her breath, tumbling slowly down from the ecstasy of her orgasm when he spills into her with a grunt and a growl of her name.

She drops down, her weight falling against his torso, but he doesn't seem to mind. He gathers his arms around her, pulls the sheet up and over them, and she can feel his nose nuzzling into her hair, his lips dropping soft kisses against her skull. His softening cock slips from her slowly, and once they are both breathing deeply again, bodies sated and heavy she asks, "Aren't you glad you realized I was right?"

He laughs, his chest vibrating beneath hers, and he whispers an admission, declares her 'right' while emphasizing 'for once' and she joins him in laughter and smiles until the heaviness of sleep pulls her eyes closed once more.

_**Thanks to the lovely oqfaves and someonethatiamnot over on tumblr for much needed advice. Thanks for reading.**_


	21. An Unwelcome Observance

_**Alright guys. This fulfills a prompt for 'morning after' plus 'family time with Roland' plus a little something else at the end. I also partially wrote this for OQ week, day 2, 'caught'. Enjoy!**_

_**Oh, and if anyone is interested I wrote a masquerade piece in this universe for day 1 of OQ week, but didn't post it here since it is a future one-shot, about 2-3 months in the relationship. You can read that on my tumblr HERE**_

He doesn't know how long he lays there, unmoving, absorbing the feel of her skin, the sound of her breathing. She'd been pulled back into sleep easily, carried away into what he can only hope are pleasant dreams, but he lays awake, partially because his dreams cannot compete with reality, and partially because he can't escape the niggling concern that someone will discover their budding relationship.

His fingers idly comb through her hair, twisting and curling the locks beneath his touch, and he thinks about the academic board, thinks about Regina, about her education. He won't let this jeopardize anything for her. He is not having second thoughts. He is more than certain that being with her is not unethical, but that doesn't mean others will see it that way. They'll have to be careful, far more careful during lecture and on campus after class. They shouldn't be seen together as often, but he loathes the thought of losing any time with her.

He sighs, rubs his eyes. They'll discuss it, figure it out, but for now he pushes the worry down, seals it away. The sun is rising in the sky, a hazy light illuminating the room, shining through the fabric adorning the window. He shifts, surprised that the movement doesn't wake her and it brings a smile to his face, how content she looks, how serene. He drops a kiss to her temple, light as a feather, lifts the duvet higher to shelter her body and pads lightly over to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of pants and t-shirt on the way.

It takes him less than a minute to decide what to make for breakfast. Regina had mentioned she isn't a fan of the heavy fry-up traditional English breakfast. She's told him that she can't stomach it, much prefers the sweet cakes they make over in the states - pancakes. He finds a recipe easily, pulls flour and other necessities from the pantry, and just as he is closing the door he spots the bag of opened chocolate chips Regina and Roland had used for cookies. He grabs it out as well, snacks on a sweet morsel while preparing the pancake batter and greasing a pan.

Roland should be home soon. John will drop him off before leaving for work, and the boy loves sweets; something him and Regina have in common. The toddler will no doubt be thrilled at the prospect of having 'cakes' for breakfast, perhaps with some butter, maybe jam or a little marmalade smeared on top. He wants to treat both of them, wants them to have a nice meal together, and although he knows Roland adores Regina, there is a tiny concerned voice in his head wondering how his boy will react to her presence this morning. He imagines fluffy cakes will appease just about any reaction.

He's whisking the batter when he feels her body against his back, her arms looping around his waist. He pauses, turns in her arms, and the sight before him nearly has him abandoning breakfast completely and carrying her back to bed. She's wearing his Rolling Stones t-shirt, the bottom resting at her upper thigh, her hair tousled from sleep, and she is donning the most contented smile he has ever seen grace her beautiful face. It almost seems like a shame to kiss her, to make her lips do anything but smile like that, but he can't help himself. His hands find their way around her body, coast down her back, down a little further, and then he dips his head, captures her mouth with his.

It is a warm kiss, relaxed and comfortable. He nearly turns it more passionate, is just about to nip and suck at her lip when she pulls back, tilts her head to the left and furrows her brow. She puckers and licks at her lips, eyes the counter behind him before meeting his curious eyes.

"Chocolate?" She asks.

He laughs, throws his head back, and it figures that she would taste the remnants of one - just one - chocolate chip he'd indulged in. He nods, lifts a hand to cradle her head and pull her closer dropping a kiss to her forehead before he turns, gestures toward the open bag on the counter. "They caught my eye when I was getting the flour," he smirks proudly, glances her way before pointing to the bowl of batter, "for the pancakes."

Her eyes light up, an eyebrow lifting as she bites her lower lip, and then she is grinning encouragingly, telling him to continue and asking if Roland will arrive soon. He tells her 'yes, any minute', and she dismisses herself while he busies himself with the pancakes.

When she returns she's wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants much too large for her, tied tightly at the waist. He's just flipping the first pancake, an exquisite aroma soaking into the atmosphere as he watches her. He can't seem to stop doing that, watching her, and he must look like an oaf because she is looking at him, smiling, then scanning her body asking if she looks ridiculous.

He tells her no, beckons her closer and embraces her with his free arm, pulling her to his body while flipping the next pancake and then the next. She wants to help, tries to take over numerous times and it strikes him as odd that she likes to cook so much. She's told him she was never taught such a skill growing up, only spied the household staff occasionally, would watch with excitement as they pulled batches of muffins from the oven, but she was never allowed in the kitchen.

Eventually he acquiesces, passes the spatula into her hand while he leans his back against the counter beside her. She smiles constantly, an expression mirrored on his own face, and they banter, share stories, talk about nothing and everything. She pours another into the pan, reaches behind him and sprinkles a handful of chocolate chips on top. He raises an eyebrow at that, chuckles at her responding grin.

"You certainly do have a sweet tooth," he smirks, shakes his head, "must be why you like me so much." He knows it is corny, feels like an idiot the minute it leaves his mouth, but it was worth the smile it earns, the laugh that comes after the scoff and a roll of her eyes.

He swipes a few chips himself from the nearly empty bag, pops them into his mouth while the stack of pancakes grows and grows. He slips her one between words, lets his fingers linger on her lips, watches the way her tongue sneaks out when she finishes each morsel. God he wants to kiss her, pops the last chip in his mouth just as she removes the last pancake and his mind is running rampant with thoughts of devouring her mouth, her neck, stripping his clothes from her body, tasting her. She is addictive, and he finds he doesn't have the power to resist her, would not want to if he could.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get the chance to act on his thoughts. Only manages to fist a hand in the fabric at her hip, the other in her hair, and when their mouths are close enough to smell the chocolate lingering on their breath, that's when the door opens. He curses John in that moment. He loves the man, is grateful for his help, but is it so difficult to knock?

He needn't have worried about Roland. His son's elated screech of 'Regina' reaches his ears before John and the boy have stepped over the threshold. She smiles, winks at him, the sexiest wink he's ever seen and why on earth did she have to do that? Then she's bending, lowering herself to Roland's height with a bright smile and a greeting.

The boy sniffs, nostrils flaring, looking back and forth between Robin and Regina, big brown eyes questioning. "I smell chocolate." Regina looks guilty, nibbles at her lower lip, and Robin can't help but smile at the two of them, two sets of big brown eyes staring up at him innocently. John dismisses himself after a nod to Regina and a knowing smirk to Robin. He makes a mental note to discuss timing with the other man, or the simple etiquette of knocking, but thinks better of it and the questions it would bring about Regina.

"Who wants pancakes?" He asks while Regina gathers Roland in her arms. The boy doesn't even ask why she is there. Something that strikes Robin as odd, he's always been such a curious boy, always asking questions, but right now he could care less as to the reasons for her presence and is far more interested in interrogating her about the smell of chocolate on her breath.

"Regina," the boy's small finger meets the corner of her lips, and Robin is not jealous, refuses to be envious of his son, even if a small part of him wishes it could be his finger wiping a speck of chocolate away from her mouth, "What. Is. This?" Roland narrows his eyes, looks between the two adults, then sniffs and licks at the trace of chocolate while Regina tries to hold back a chuckle.

He tells his boy to stop the inquisition, that Regina made him a pancake filled with chocolate chips, and the boy's eyes grow wide and excited as they all take a seat at the table. The toddler talks throughout the meal, tells them both how much he loves chocolate and pancakes. Robin finds himself asking the boy to mind his manners as often as Regina does, but the toddler doesn't pay either of them attention, pauses to swallow one bite, but then talks through the next mouthful. Roland is thrilled and high on sugar by the end of their meal.

Regina clears the dishes from the table, moving to wash them at the sink, until Robin asks her not to, takes her hands in his and asks that she relax. She smiles, almost looks confused, and he figures she has had very few people ever take care of her, really take care of her. He intends to do just that, plans on serving her like she is his queen until one day it doesn't come as a shock to her that someone would want to tend to her needs.

She plays with Roland, both of them laughing, putting together a puzzle at the table, and it nearly breaks his heart when he tells the boy he'll have to get ready to go to the day-care so Robin can make it to his afternoon faculty meetings.

Roland throws a bit of a fit, pushes out his lower lip, brown eyes glassy with unshed tears. Robin's feels a clenching in his chest, a gnawing guilt, and he desperately wishes he could appease the boy, but he can't miss his meetings, can't neglect his job.

Regina chimes in while brushing a stray curl from Roland's forehead. "I can watch him if you like?" She seems tentative, unsure if this is something he would be receptive to, but the thought of her spending more time with Roland brings an unhindered smile to his face, wide and dimpled and matched by his son. That seems to make her more confident, has a smile pulling at the corners of her lips until she is blushing and beaming.

"I think that would be lovely, Regina." He responds earnestly, and she nods. Once the boy leaves to prepare himself for the day, Robin questions her, makes sure she does not feel obligated, that she knows he doesn't expect this of her, and the gracious smile she gives him, the touch of her palm to his cheek, has him drowning in the depths of her brown eyes.

She reassures him, tells him it is her pleasure, and 'really, I love spending time with Roland'. He knows she does, sees the way her eyes light up when they are together and not for the first time he wonders about her child, wonders what the boy would be like. He can't imagine how much she must wonder the same.

They leave a little early, stop at Regina's for a change of clothing, then decide to pick up a light lunch at the cafe near campus before Robin leaves them to enjoy their afternoon while he listens to haughty professors discuss class schedules and lecture topics for two hours.

They order sandwiches, with the exception of Regina who still seems to have a hankering for sweets. She peruses the menu for several minutes, voicing her distaste for numerous items. "Figgy pudding," she shudders, "that's the stuff of nightmares." He chuckles at her, tells her there are plenty of tasty delicacies this country has to offer. She sends him a wink, tells him 'oh, I know', before deciding on a scone with a large coffee.

He can hardly believe this day, can hardly believe it isn't all a dream, because it feels surreal. Enjoying their time together, the three of them laughing and talking and eating, and he could kick himself for holding out so long, for being so foolish. Roland holds both their hands as they leave the cafe, stands patiently beside them when Robin turns toward Regina, leaning forward, drawn to her by some invisible gravity.

He nearly kisses her, is prepared to do just that when a voice sends a shiver down his spine, a voice that has Regina's eyes switching from warm to cold. Her casual smile turns to a scowl in front of his eyes, and then he is turning, the possessor of that miserable voice standing adjacent to him. The old man smiles, a lascivious grin, a monstrosity of a smile that has Robin shifting his body, blocking Regina and Roland from Professor Leopold's purview.

"Lovely seeing you here, Professor Locksley," the man states, then moving his eyes to Regina adds, "and always lovely seeing you, Miss Mills." Neither of them responds to the old bastard. Robin eventually nods, his face stern, jaw tight, and it has the older man nodding in return, taking a large sip of his tea before slurping and patting remnants of the liquid from his facial hair with a napkin. "I'll see you on campus." The miserable man walks away then, those last words cast not only at Robin, but at Regina as well, and he feels a burn in his veins, his heart pulsing in his chest.

He can vividly picture his fist colliding with that man's face, feel the crunching of bones and the tearing of flesh, and he vows that if the letch ever harms a hair on Regina's head he will make that daydream a reality. Regina calms him, places a hand on his forearm, traces down to unclench his fist and twine their fingers. He breathes slowly again. Lets the calmness of her skin against his feed into him, relax him.

"We'll discuss that later." She says, eyes darting toward the departing figure of Professor Leopold, and Robin nods, knows he has to leave, has to go listen to that man spout pointless dribble for the rest of the afternoon while sending him knowing glances and repulsive grins.

This time he does kiss her, plants his lips against hers instinctively, maybe even possessively, but he can't help it. He feels an ancient spite swimming under his flesh at the recollection of the old man's gaze traveling Regina, a basic impulse to claim and protect. Roland's 'ew'ing and giggling has the smile returning to his face.

He bids them goodbye, asks them both to 'behave', to which he receives matching rolls of the eyes and a scoff from Regina. The picture of the two of them has his mood lifting, his heart lightening...for now at least.

_**Hope you enjoyed, let me know if you have any prompts for them or comments. I plan on the next piece being Regina's POV that afternoon and fulfilling a prompt for Regina getting jealous :)**_


	22. Gamut Of Emotions

_**Not beta'd because I wanted to get it to you guys. You've waited long enough. This chapter fills a prompt for jealous Regina (I think that was your idea thisisamadhouse ;)) + some more Dimples Queen and some very welcome smut (thanks for the input over on tumblr ;D) Enjoy!**_

She adores Roland, thinks he is one of the sweetest children she's ever met, and how could he not be with Robin as his father. The man sees the best in people, can find a morsel of goodness in the worst souls; of course his son would be a cherubic and dimpled angel.

Their afternoon passes swiftly, and Roland exhausts himself viewing exhibit after exhibit at Somerset House, a cultural centre near King's. They make it to the building in time to participate in a drop-in family workshop and spend an hour gluing and drawing, trimming and painting until they are laughing and smiling as they walk the halls.

It is a nice way to pass a few hours, a nice way to get to know Roland better, but she can't help the guilt that settles in her mind, the remorse and regret that simmers beneath the surface when she thinks of the things she'll never do with her boy, with the son she calls Henry. She hasn't told Robin that, hasn't told him she named her son before he was pulled from her arms, hasn't told him she held the boy.

Part of it was a desperate final plea for her father to take action, to defend her. She'd hoped that maybe, just maybe, the old man would not be able to sit back and watch as his grandson, a boy with his namesake, was ripped from their family. She had been mistaken, had overestimated the man she still can't help but love, no matter the disappointment that never fades.

Henry, her little Henry. The name sticks in her mind. It was the only thing she ever said to him, murmured a little 'I love you Henry' just before the nurse took him from her arms. This isn't the time to reminisce, to wonder, so she pulls herself back from the depths of painful memories, smiles down at the mop of brown hair and chocolate brown orbs staring back up at her.

They end up at a nearby cafe soaking up the warmth from soup to cut the chill of the cold day while they wait for Robin. It is getting late in the afternoon and at some point it becomes clear that Roland is not an angelic little boy all of the time - no surprise. He is three after all. Half way through the soup he turns sour, rubbing his eyes, ornery and demanding. He nearly throws himself to the floor when Regina tells him he can't have a chocolate chip cookie, when she explains that they've both had enough sweets today, and she knows a sugar high is the last thing the boy needs before heading home for a nap.

She manages to calm his tantrum, distracts him with the small lion figurine she'd bought him at the Somerset shop, and hastily makes her way with the boy toward Robin's building. He'd asked her to meet him at his office around three in the afternoon, and they are a touch early, but her nerves are fraying, on edge after spending almost all day with Roland. A lot of emotions have floated to the surface while they've played and laughed, a lot of memories, and it upsets her that she can't just be happy, can't just enjoy the blessing of this little boy rather than feel contrite, rather than drown in her past, in the bitterness of 'what ifs'.

They are both wearing matching pouts when they walk up to the building, Roland clasping her hand tightly, and the pout on her lips turns to a scowl when she spots Robin chatting with a beautiful red head. She has seen the woman on campus, spotted her in the very same building they stand in front of at the moment, and she'd assumed that the older woman was a professor; a sensible assumption if the way the redhead flirts with Robin is any indication.

She hesitates, wonders if she should move any closer with Roland. They are keeping their relationship quiet, a secret for the time being, and how would it look for a student to show up with her professor's son, but then the older woman laughs, cackles really, and settles a manicured hand onto Robin's chest, and Regina can feel her scowl turning into a snarl.

In that moment she doesn't think about the consequences, doesn't really think at all. She acts on impulse, on instinct, moves quickly, closing the distance between herself and Robin, the man that woman has no business touching.

"Regina." Robin looks stunned, taken aback, but then Roland is yelling Papa and jumping into his arms distracting him with a tight little hug around the neck.

The display of love between father and son gives Regina time to recover from her irritation, and years of being bred to be polite, to hide her true emotions finally come in handy. She manages an excuse for arriving early, explains that Roland was starting to get tired, a claim the toddler vehemently refutes. She holds herself stiff, refers to Robin as professor, and he must see how it grieves her to act so formal because his gaze softens on her, offering comfort with a simple look.

"You must introduce me to your nanny, Robin." The redhead speaks, and Regina bites her tongue, doesn't correct the presumption because it is better for the woman to think she is a nanny to Robin rather than a student turned lover.

He is caught off guard, stutters a bit before introducing the redhead as Professor Zelena Vertin, and her as 'Miss Mills'. She smiles at the other woman, tells her how Professor Locksley needed someone to watch Roland during the meetings and she had volunteered, before pointing out what a lovely wedding ring the other woman wears.

"I'll have to remember that you're so good with children, Miss Mills" the professor changes the subject from matrimony, smiles, a saccharine and fake thing that has Regina thinking of her own mother, "maybe I'll hire you on some day as a nanny also." The redhead turns her gaze back to Robin as she laughs, lifts her hand and places it against his bicep, and Regina swallows down her ire, throws off thoughts of literally ripping that hand from this woman's body.

She can feel it, feel her lips turning down, feel her heart jumping, her blood sizzling in her veins, and she wants to slap the woman, wants to be sure the redhead will never place a hand on Robin again, but instead she says simply, "Oh, how many months are you?"

It is a low blow, implying pregnancy where there obviously is none. It is beneath her and she knows it. She doesn't usually stoop to such passive aggressive insults, prefers to be straightforward, sarcastic yet candid, but this situation calls for more tact, less bluntness, and Regina hates the way that makes her feel like Cora, reminds her of the woman she despises, but right now, the look of shock and abhorrence upon the professor's face is worth it. So worth it.

Professor Vertin does not look amused, does not even validate Regina's question with an answer, but rather sends one last smile towards Robin before stepping away, sashaying down the steps. Robin turns to her, narrows his eyes, tilts his head, and then he is fighting a smirk, biting his lower lip when he says, "You're jealous."

It isn't a question but rather a statement. A statement that has Regina's jaw dropping open, her arms crossing defensively across her body, until she looks to the side and hollows out her cheeks. "She was coming onto you, Robin."

He laughs, tells her 'yes, I know', but reassures her with an 'I'm only interested in one woman', and then his free hand is coasting up and down her bicep, tethering her to the calm serenity that seems to settle between them.

It isn't until Roland is tucked in for his nap, wrapped snugly in a blanket, that Robin tells her about the meeting, tells her that Professor Leopold said nothing more about what he may or may not have witnessed.

"He saw us nearly kissing, Robin." Her voice is a low growl, exasperated and slowly growing more frantic as she paces in front of the couch, and he takes her hand, pulls her down the hall to his room so they can speak without fear of waking Roland.

"I know, and I intend on speaking with him," he is standing close to her, close enough that she can smell him, his woodsy cologne, his sweat, "but in the mean time I want you to be careful. Let me know if he says or does anything inappropriate." His eyes grow dark then, concern etching his brow. "Be careful around him, Regina."

She huffs out a laugh, tilts her head and narrows her eyes, because she cannot believe that Robin is genuinely worried about that disgusting old man. "Robin, he is harmless," she shakes her head, releases a sigh, "repugnant and handsy - yes, but harmless nonetheless."

"Handsy?" Robin's eyebrows lift, his mouth dropping open with the question hanging in the air. She averts her eyes, bites her lower lip, and she really does not want to make this larger than it is, should have kept that little detail to herself. It is bad enough that Professor Leopold knows about them; they can't risk Robin going off on the old man for being forward and a little grabby.

"Robi-" She starts, lifting her hands up, palms facing outward, but he interrupts, moves into her space until those hands are splayed across his torso, his fingers gripping at her hips.

"Regina, what did he do?" His body is stiff, bubbling with barely contained rage, but he feels warm and safe and she leans a little closer, absorbs the protective feel of his half embrace.

"Nothing," she states, but Robin looks about to interrupt again, his eyes demanding, "Nothing, Robin" She insists before gliding her hands up his chest, settling at his neck, the heat of his flesh warming her cold fingers. "He is a perverted lech, Robin, but that is all. He is forward and suggestive, but nothing I can't handle."

He mulls it over, and she can see the thoughts fluttering in his mind, can see his eyes soften, then narrow, then mellow until he is gazing at her with those piercing oceans of blue depth that make her melt, make her body swim with arousal, her nipples tighten, and wetness gather between her thighs.

His half embrace becomes full, one arm wrapping tightly, almost possessively around her waist, while the other wraps around her, but rests lower, settles on the curve of her rear. It makes her smile, just a seductive little smirk, because he is fond of her backside, can't seem to hide his affinity for it, not that he's trying.

Her fingers coast into his hair, feather and fist as she pulls his lips to hers. It is gentle at first, tentative even, but then Robin's tongue is tracing across her mouth, searching until she opens for him, and she lets him take the lead. She can feel one of his hands grasping at her hair, tangling and pulling the locks gently while the other hand grasps a handful of her ass, all tentativeness dissipating as his actions become certain and eager.

She draws him infinitely closer, leaves no space between their bodies, and wraps her arms around his neck tightly. She is content for the moment, just like this, standing here devouring each others mouths, hands sliding over clothing, seeking the warmth of bare skin, but he is clearly not as satisfied. His arms meet at her waist, and suddenly his face is lower, lined up with hers as his knees bend and he lifts. She gasps at the loss of her footing, can't help but smile at his dimpled grin, and then she is laughing, nearly giggling when he drops her onto his bed with a bounce.

He is on her immediately, kissing and licking, lips warming the skin at her neck, mapping her flesh, and she can't remember whose clothes disappeared first, can't remember if she stripped him bare or he her or both, can't remember anything but the feel of his warm skin sliding against hers, the feel of his scruff scraping against her hip.

He mumbles something about a freckle on her side, circles it with his tongue, whispers about her body's perfection as he traces a faded stretch mark with his lips. She has never felt so cherished, so revered, and he makes her believe him, makes her feel beautiful, all of her, scars and imperfections and everything.

He kisses his way down her body, leaves a trail of moist kisses and soft bites until she is urging him lower, silently begging for his mouth where she needs it most. His tongue flicks at her clit, gentle at first, then a little harder, faster. She is writhing, twisting and turning, practically mewling and gasping until he slips a finger inside of her, then another. He moves slowly at first, just a deep thrusting until her hips are meeting every motion, and he picks up pace to match the beat of his tongue, curls his fingers inside of her bringing her up, up, winding her tighter, tighter, and then she thinks she might have screamed his name, at the very least she moaned it loudly, so she slaps a hand over her mouth, pushes into her lips until she comes back down, comes back to him.

He is beside her when her body calms, when her heart slows from a frantic pace, and her rapid breathing simmers to deep, relaxed inhales and exhales. She smiles at his dimpled smirk, nearly laughs, and this all feels surreal, like a wonderful dream, and she can hardly believe it, can hardly grasp that it won't all slip from her fingers in an instant, or worse, that it all could. She looks at him, those blue eyes caressing her soul, and she shifts her body, straddles him and in the same movement lowers herself onto his cock.

It takes him by surprise, and he groans, his muscles clenching as his fingers dig into her hips. He whispers her name, and the way he says it, the way it sounds like a promise leaving his lips has her moving, has her hips pivoting back and forth. He won't last long. She can see as much in the furrow of his brow, the strain in his muscles, and he's trying to hold back, moving his thumb to her clit in a desperate hope to bring her with him, but she knows he'll topple over long before she does again, so she laces their fingers, rides him harder, faster, until he is meeting each thrust, pulling her down harder.

He empties into her with a strangled moan, a gasp, and then his eyes open wide, his hands slide up her body, coast across pebbled nipples to reach around her neck, and he pulls her down, lips aiming to press into hers. He misses, ends up kissing the side of her nose until they both maneuver a little, bend and stretch. She falls asleep in his arms, her limbs heavy, her body like a puddle, and he whispers he'll set an alarm for them, tells her he'll make dinner for the three of them before driving her home.

Home. She thinks on that word as she snuggles closer to him, thinks of him and Roland, thinks of where she truly feels home. Tomorrow they both have class at eight, both have to pretend, have to hide, but now, just for now, she allows herself this, soaks into his body, his warmth, and tries to memorize the feeling, tries to tell herself that she deserves this, that she is worthy of him.


	23. Egoism

_**Alright. Sorry for the long wait. Life has been busy. I'm forgoing the beta treatment to post this now. All mistakes are mine. This fulfills two prompts; one for a bad day, another for a bad grade. Enjoy and thank you all for your lovely reviews and faves and follows! I know I don't always respond to each one, but I ADORE them and they are all very appreciated. Thank you. :D**_

It is one of those days, one of those miserable days that has her dreaming of the comfort her bed offers, her quilt wrapped tightly around her solemn form protectively, but that dream, that wish - it is impossible at the moment. She trudges on, her expression impossibly grim as she makes her way to her afternoon class with Professor Leopold.

Her head is pounding, or rather, still pounding. She woke up with a throbbing beneath her skull that hasn't subsided, has only worsened. The dreary weather hasn't helped. Her hair is frizzing, and she thinks she should be above such frivolous worries, but she isn't. She still finds herself glancing into her compact, trying to tame her wind blown locks, thinking how Cora would surely disapprove of the unpolished style she currently sports.

She sighs, snaps the compact shut and makes her way to her next lecture only to be late. Of course. Add that to the list of things that have gone awry on this day spawned from Hell. She steps in as quietly as possible, slinks into a chair in the back, but he notices. Professor Leopold always notices.

"Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Miss Mills." He states sarcastically, a sickening grin on his face.

She nods slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear while swallowing thickly before responding with, "I'm sorry, Professor." She doesn't mean it, could never bring herself to sincerely apologize to a man that makes her skin crawl with every lascivious glance up and down her body, but it seems to be sentiment enough for him to move on, to leave her alone.

She doesn't focus on the lecture, finds her mind drifting to Robin, to their situation, their argument. She had been looking forward to his morning lecture, had hoped that just the sight of him would be enough comfort to soothe her dire mood, but no. That was not the case.

It had been awkward, uncomfortable, and she knows they need to be careful, knows that they should avoid their typical heated debates, their casual lunches on campus, but she needed something good today, needed something secure, and instead she was greeted with an abrupt 'Good morning, Miss Mills' and a terse nod.

He hardly glanced her way the entire lecture, and Regina couldn't take it, couldn't listen to him blabber on about altruism and Auguste Comte without questioning, challenging.

"You honestly believe people will choose to be altruistic?" He does, she knows he does, knows he'll defend his views, but she couldn't stop herself from asking the question. "Even if an individual is altruistic in practice that is only one individual, one person. Any goodness created by their actions will be devoured by society. A society that is mostly driven by self-interest."

She should have stopped talking then, shouldn't have engaged him in the first place. They had discussed keeping their interactions few and far between, yet there she was, already breaking the rules they'd set in play, and still she had no regrets, not when he finally looked at her, not when she could soak a small amount of solace from his warm gaze. Unfortunately, that solace was fleeting, his eyes quickly turning to address the entire lecture hall as he responded to her question.

"Miss Mills is referring to an ethical theory known as Egoism. A theory which holds that an action can be considered ethical if it maximizes the good for one's self." He had looked her direction momentarily, his gaze traveling through her, past her, and in that moment Regina had found herself shivering from the loss of connection. A connection she had grown accustomed to over the past weeks, a connection she was in desperate need of on a day like this.

"Although it is true that some people in our society would fit this mould, it is unlikely that any individual would always meet the definition." He sighed, moved behind the small podium at the center of the hall before continuing, "however, it is equally unlikely that any individual would always act altruistically. We are human. All of us bound to act in our own self interest at times, but what I've been trying to teach you," that's when he had looked right at her, blue eyes melting with brown, "is that we all have the choice. We have free will, and we can choose to act altruistically. We can choose to 'live for others'."

He'd left her with that. Auguste Comte's dictum echoing in her brain, and the inner conflict his lecture had stirred only had her day worsening. He'd looked concerned when she stepped from his lecture hall making her hasty retreat, and he'd texted her moments later asking if anything was wrong. She'd replied with her typical response to that question, a response she'd deemed to be proper after years of 'learning' from her mother, 'I'm fine'.

She should have expected him to find her at King's coffee shop. After all, that is where they spend their mutual afternoons, but she was still unpleasantly surprised to see him join her at the small table she'd secluded into at the corner. She'd just settled in, had been hoping to find some relief in her large latte and a scone, but instead he occupied the seat in front of her with his brows knit in frustration.

"Regina," he had bit his tongue then, looking around before continuing with, "Miss Mills, is there a problem of which I'm unaware?"

She'd scoffed at that before stating, "I'd wager that there is a lot of which you are unaware." It hadn't really made sense, especially not to him. How could she expect him to be aware of her feelings if she didn't share them with him, but in that moment it hadn't mattered. She had been fizzling with irritation since she woke up, and with each waking moment she'd only felt worse, felt more dismal.

He shook his head, his mouth opening and closing in confusion. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She had responded with a tired sigh and a roll of her eyes, an action that had him requesting she act like an adult and have a reasonable conversation with him. That was the wrong thing to say. She can still feel the vein in her forehead pulsing, can still feel anger simmering and scorching beneath her skin. She had spewed sarcasm with an apology for acting so 'juvenile', telling him, "what a burden it must be to try and converse with such a child" as she rose from the table. She left without her coffee or scone, managed to grab her bag, but otherwise brain stopped functioning as she stumbled her way outside into the frigid drizzle that left her mostly dry yet feeling soaked to the bone.

She'll talk to him. Of course she'll talk to him, and they'll work it out, and she'll earnestly apologize for her rude behavior, but only after this day is over. This miserable day.

"Miss Mills?" Her eyes go wide, and she clears her throat nervously when she realizes how close Professor Leopold is standing. He is not even a foot away, right beside her, and she'd been too busy dwelling on her sour mood and romantic circumstances to notice him returning graded essays. He sets hers on the desk in front of her, and her mouth goes dry, her jaw dropping open at the red ink marring her work.

He steps away before she can word a response, sauntering past other students on their way out of the lecture hall. Her brows knit together, her heart racing, and Regina can feel sweat gathering on her palms, anxiety bubbling through her veins. She flips page after page of her paper, hurriedly reading note after ridiculous note, and she really shouldn't care, but she prides herself on her hard work, on results, on the flawlessness of her grades. It is an old habit from growing up with Cora as a mother, but it sticks with her, has her breathing shallow as she looks back to the grade scribbled on the first page of her essay. A 'D'? How could he give her a 'D'?

Her eyes lift from the paper, and she clenches the edge in her fist, angrily making her way up to the front of the lecture hall, slamming it in front of the man who licks his lips while staring at her cleavage with falsely kind eyes, and demands that he explain the grade. He tells her that she didn't defend her thesis, that her arguments were vague and imprecise, and then he is glancing at his watch, explaining that he really must go before finishing with, "you can come to my office tonight precisely at 9pm to further discuss your grade, Miss Mills."

She sighs, shakes her head at his retreating form before tucking the essay in her bag and making for King's coffee shop once more. She'll need caffeine to pass the next four hours studying until she can make her way to Professor Leopold's office.

That is where Robin finds her again, stumbles upon her at nearly six o'clock in the evening sipping coffee and munching on cookies; she'd finally given into her sweet tooth. Anything to improve this day by a fraction.

"Regina." Her name is a whisper on his lips, and she can feel the warmth from his body as he takes up the chair beside her. He sits close. Too close she thinks, too close if they are trying to hide this...whatever this is.

She turns her eyes upward, meets his gaze momentarily before looking back down. She can't look at him. He sees right through her, and no amount of pretense or guise fools him into thinking what she wants him to think. She vaguely wonders how he does it. How he can see through all of her well learned defences.

"Professor." She greets politely as she makes great effort not to snap the pen in her fingers.

He slips a hand over her leg, the flesh of his palm warming the top of her thigh under the table, and she looks up, looks around before sending him a perplexed stare. The affectionate concern she finds cast back at her nearly takes her breath away. She can't bring herself to push at his hand, can't bring herself to look away.

"Regina, what's wrong?" He questions earnestly, fingers gripping at her jean clad thigh, and she can't lie to him, can't pretend with him, so she tells him. She tells him about the pounding headache that woke her, tells him about the unsightly blemish that greeted her in the mirror, tells him about the funk that has her stuck on everything bad, and she tells him how she despises their situation, how she hates pretending.

He listens, absorbs, and then he simply asks if he can help, what he can do, if anything. It brings a smile to her face, the first that has graced her lips all day surely. She shakes her head before saying, "I'm just having a bad day, Robin," an exasperated sigh leaves her lips as she corrects with, "Professor Locksley."

He nods, brows furrowing as he leans back slightly, his hand moving to his own lap hesitantly. "I'm here to listen, Regina." He speaks in a hushed tone, concern still evident, and she tells him she knows, thanks him for listening before apologizing for her earlier behavior. He shakes his head, parrots the words right back to her before his eyes move downward, settling on the paper strewn across the table, a circular coffee stain marking the worthless essay she'd written.

"What's this?" He asks curiously, grabbing at the sheets and intently reading the demeaning comments and corrections.

She sighs again, hollows out her cheeks before taking a long sip from her coffee. "Professor Leopold finds my work abysmal apparently." She takes in Robin's confused expression before assuring that, "it's fine. He said he'll go over his comments with me this evening. It is only one essay. It shouldn't drastically affect my final grade."

"This evening? It's already half past six," he observes with a glance at his phone, "when does he intend to meet with you?"

"Nine."

"Nine?" He asks, and he looks worried, hesitant. She smiles at him, tells him it is fine, and changes the subject before he can voice his anxiety.

She asks him about the weekend, about his plans with Roland, but he only half listens, his focus still resting on her paper. He scans her writing, flips page after page before telling her that 'this is good' and 'Professor Leopold is wrong'. He tells her that her arguments are sound and intelligent, and she has such a sudden urge to kiss him she has to bite her lip to the point of pain in order to prevent her mouth from crashing to his.

As it turns out, Robin was right to be concerned.

His tongue is strong, powerful, forceful, and she wouldn't have expected that. She expects it from Robin, knows how passionate and powerful his mouth searches and explores hers, but this isn't Robin. This isn't something she wants. This is a greasy old man taking liberties because he thinks he can, because he thinks he has the right, the privilege.

Robin was right.


End file.
